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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

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CiHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 

1980 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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n 


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I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


Couverture  endommagee 


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Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


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D 


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Bound  with  other  material/ 
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a 


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□ 

n 

□ 


7^ 


n 

D 
D 


Coloured  pages/ 
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20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


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The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  ^^ntain  the  symbol  — ♦>  {meaning  "CON- 
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right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
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Biblioth6que  nationals  du  Quebec 


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filmage. 

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par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film6s  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  q'li  cori^iorte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas;  le  symbols  — ^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE  ",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN  ". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  etre 
film^s  d  des  taux  de  r6duction  diff6rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  etre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  film6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droits, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombrs 
d'imagss  ndcsssuire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^tnode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 


3 


THE 


C  HIE  I^     D'O  K 


THE  GOLDEN  DOG 


A  LEGEND  OF  QUEBEC 


BY 


WILLIAM  KIRBY 


1 


i 


i 


f 


NEW  YORK  AND  MONTREAL: 

LOVELL,   ADAM,   WESSON   &   COMPANY. 

1877. 


LAK(    CHAMPLAIN    PRESa, 
nOUlBt   POINT,    N.  V. 


t 


•  •  •  •■  •  •  • 


■  •  *• 


I •  •  «• .  • 


i'  t 


» 

I  •  • 


• « « 


•  • « 


s 


.i. 


I 


I 


TO 

MISS   RYE, 

m  ADMircATION  OP  HER  INTELLIGKNT  AND  WOMANLY  PERSEVEKANCE 
IN  THE  GOOD  WORK  TO  WHICH  SHE  DEVOTES  HER  LIFR-THE  RESCUE 
FROM  POVERTY  AND  VICE  OF  DESTITUTE  CHILDREN-TIIIS  BOOK  IS 
EESVECTFULLY  INSCRIBED  BY  THE  AUTHOR 

Niagara  Ontario, 
January,  1877. 


62813 


.•>'< 


Ti 


CONTENTS. 


i 


•'.,? 


CHAPTER 

I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 
VI. 
VII. 
VIII. 
IX. 
X. 
XI. 
XII. 
XIII. 
XIV. 

xv^ 

XVI. 
XVII. 
XVIII. 
XIX. 
XX. 
XXI. 
XXII. 
XXIII. 
XXIV. 
XXV. 
XXVI. 
XXVII. 
XXVIII. 


XXIX. 
XXX. 
XXXI. 
XXXII. 
XXXIII. 
XXXIV. 
XXXV. 
XXXVI. 
XXXVII. 


Men  of  the  Old  Re^me 

The  Walls  of  Quebec 

A  Chatelaine  of  New  Franc'e 

Lonfidences 

The  Itinerant  Notary' 

iieaumanoir 

The  Intendant  Bigot  ' 

Caroh'ne  de  St.  Castin' 

Pierre  Phih'hert  . 

Amdlie  de  Repentitrny. 

The  Soldier's  Welcome 

?r^  5->?t^^'  of  'St.  Louis 
I  he  Chien  d'or  . 
The  Council  of  War  .' 

The  Charming  Josephine 

Angchque  des  Meloises 

Splendid^  Mendax 

The  Merovingian  Princess 

Put  Money  in  thy  Purse 

Cross  Questioning 

Belmont 

Sic  itur  ad  astra  ' 

So  glozed  the  Tempter 

Cheerful  Yesterdays  and  Confiien.  To-™or 

A  day  at  the  Manor  House'        ' 
Fe  ices  tcr  et  amplius 

''On'?>l'Z1x'",ce"'"'''^^'''^"  • 
S"SrU'ar"°:'-^'''"'fr™*;East 
Weird  Sisters  '         *         "         " 

"Flaskets  of  Drugs,  full  to  iheir  wick;d  Jips." 


PACE. 
I 

lO 

H 
24 

34 
46 
53 
67 
80 
86 
92 
105 
116 
129 
141 

^53 
167 

182 

190 

201 

208 

220 

23  s 
245 

253 
'262 

273 

288 

296 

310 

318 

332 
340 
353 
359 
376 
3S8 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


L  ! 


CHAPTHR.  PAGB4 

XXXV^III.  The  broad  black  Gateway  of  a  Lie      .        .  395 

XXXIX.  Olympic  Chariots  and  much  learned  Dust  .  408 

XL.  The  Coutume  de  Paris       ....  430 

XLL  A  wild  ni<,dit  inn  doors  and  out    .         .         .  443 

XLIL  Mere  iMalheur     ....         .         .  452 

XLIIL  Outvenoms  all  the  Worms  of  Nile      .        .  468 

XLIV.  Quoth  the-  raven :  "Nevermore!"        .         .  475 

XLV.  A  deed  without  a  Name       ....  484 

XLVL  "Let's  talkof  graves  and  worms  and  epitaphs '496 

XLVIL  Silk  <j;]()ves  over  bloody  hands    .         .         .  517 

XLVIII.  The  Intcndant's  Dilemma            .         .         >  541 

XLIX.  "  I  will  feet  fat  the  ancient  grudge  I  bear  him  "551 

L.  The  Bourgeois  Philibert     ....  561 

LL  A  drawn  game 573 

LIL  "In  gold  clasps  locks  in  the  golden  story  "  581 

LI  1 1.  The  marketplace  on  St.  Martin's  Day        .  592 

LIV.  "  Blessed  they  who  die  doing  thy  v.ill  "      .  604 

LV.  Evil  News  rides  post 622 

LVI.  The  Ursulines 633 

LVII.  The  lamp  of  Repentigny     ....  643 

LVI  1 1.  "  Lovelv  in  Death  the  be-uteous  Ruin  lay  "  658 

LIX.  "'The  Mills  of  God  grind  slowly"  .     .         .  667 


( 


t 


THE  CiriEN  D'OR. 


( 


( 


CHAP'I'KR     r. 

MElv    OF    THE   OLD    RF,(;i.M|.:. 


Hi 


wMlcrs  ihu  nrcs  of  V^.^lM•i,,■      mi    ,•       ,"•"^^'-1''  ""in  its 
Coniit       l>,     p         ^''^"^  '^     \\c  boi.evwl  Ihe  hoast  llifii 

Klc   ,  iv    ;,,,?-■  ",""■•  V^^'"  '■^"^■'^"^  ""'I  live  for  ever    >' 
sa,  e-th         L ;,'  /.""  f'"  '"  ""^^'O-  "'e  <.f  this   lo  ciy 

siasn,,-  tier-  J'e  e  "  K     „    ,   '  ,r    1''"  H  ""'"'^  "'"'  '-■"'I'"- 

tosethoron  a  baslio,,  of  the  r    ,,,,,;     of'  ff     "'-■."""'' 
year  of  Ki-acc  ,748  r.imiJarti  of  Quebec,  ,n  the 

:;r^trTrf^"^''-'''-^°"'-'-^^^ 

"'UK,   at   the     tool   of    I  U'   I-inin-irf         T'l.  f  .     f-'"'^^'-"^^ 

in  atteiKiance    uno,      vT  ^  ".'"''■      ''"i'  f'"™"!  the  suite 
this  tnoru  ,  'mo        ,e  a  ,  ,;    vi   l"'-,"''"  r*"  '■"•  ''>•  ^"'"-'^<= 

the  citi^eus^rc!;;:;:;;;^;:;;,;   ,:;;;- --^ -;;-;.!..  i,y 

up^,,the;ie-f;a;cesor;,'eriu'  '  """'""""'  '"  '•''^- 

officers.  The,iaaacc:;:;:!iiue;,l's;;;-:;"-„t 


9 


Tim  ClflEN-  D'OR. 


show  tlit'ir  respect  mid   to  encoura^^e  by  their  presence 
and  c\hf>rt:Ui<>ns,  the  zeal  of  the  colonists  in  the  work  of 

fortifvin;;  the  capital. 

War  was  tiun  ra';in_:^  between  old  KnL;!and  and  old 
France,  and  between  Nfew  I'inj^land  and  Nfew  l'"rance. 
The  vast  region  of  North  America,  stretchinjjc  far  into  the 
interior  and  south-west  from  Canada  to  Louisiana,  had 
for  three  jears  ])ast  been  the  scene  of  fierce  hostilities 
betwet'U  t!ie  rival  nations,  while  the  sa\a{;e  Indian  tribes 
ran,L;ed  (»n  llu'  one  side  and  on  the  other,  steej)ed  their 
mf)cassins  in  the  blond  of  l"'rench  and  I'-n^Iish  colonists, 
who,  in  their  turn,  became  as  fierce  and  carried  on  the 
Avar  as  relentlessly  as  ihi;  savajj^es  themselves. 

Louisboiu't;',  the  bulwark  of  New  France,  projecting 
its  mailed  arm  boldly  into  the  Atlantic,  liad  been  cut  off 
by  the  Fn^lish,  who  now  o\'erran  Acadia,  and  be^an  to 
threaten  Ouebec  with  iinasion  by  sea  and  land.  IJusy 
rumo'-s  of  approaching  danii^er  were  rife  in  the  colony, 
and  the  j;allant  Cio\enior  issued  orders  which  were  enthusi- 
:isticall\-  obesed,  for  thi'  people  to  proceed  to  the  walls 
and  |)lace  the  city  in  a  state  of  defence  ;  to  bid  defiance  to 
the  enein}'. 

Rolland  Michel  I'arrin.  Count  de  la  (lalissoniere,  was 
remarkable  no  less  for  his  philosophical  attainments,  that 
ranked  him  hi'^h  ainonjj^  the  sa\ans  of  the  French  Acad- 
emy, than  for  his  political  abilities  and  foresii^ht  as  a 
statesman.  Me  fell  strongly  the  vital  interests  iiu'olved 
in  the  jiresent  war,  and  saw  clearly  what  was  the  sole 
policy  necessary  for  France  to  adopt  in  order  to  preserve 
her  maLjnitlcent  dominion  in  North  America.  His  coun- 
sels were  neither  liked  nor  followed  by  the  C\)urt  of 
Versailles,  then  sinking;  fast  into  the  slouch  of  corruption, 
•:hat  marki  (I  the  closinir  years  of  the  rei":n  of  Louis  XV. 

Among  the  people  who  admired  deeds  more  than 
v/ords,  the  Count  was  honored  as  a  bra\e  and  skilful 
admiral,  who  had  l)orne  the  fla<;-  of  J^'rance  triumphantly 
over  the  seas,  and  in  the  face  of  her  most  powerful 
enemies — the  FiiLjlish  and  Dutch.  His  memorable  reiDulse 
of  Admiral  J»vn<:,  eiiiht  vears  after  the  events  here  record- 
ed,  which  led  lo  the  death  of  that  brave  and  unfortunate 
officer,  who  was  shot  bv  sentence  of  Court  martial  to 
atone  for  that  repulse,  was  a  jjjlory  to  France,  but  to  the 
Count  brought  after  it  a  manly  sorrow,  for  the  fate  of  his 


i 


MEiX  OF  THE  OLD  REGIME.  3 

opponent,  whose  (KmiIi  Ik:  ri'i^.irdcd  as  a  cruel  and  unjust 
act,  un\vorlli\-  of  the  I'"nL,dish  nalif)n,  usually  as  generous 
and  merciful  as  it  is  brave  and  considerate. 

The  (lovcrnor  was  alreadv  well  advanced  in  years. 
He  hac'  entered  upon  the  winter  of  life  that  sprinkles  the 
lieaf!  with  snow  that  never  inells,  but  he  was  still  hale, 
ruddy  and  active.  Nature  had,  indeed,  moulded  him  in  an 
iinpropitious  Jiour  for  personal  onuliiu-ss,  hut  in  com- 
pensation had  seated  a  <;rrat  heart  and  a  ^ra'^ful  mind  in 
a  body  low  of  stature,  and  marked  l)\-  a  sIiL;ht  dcfoiinity. 
His  piercing  eyes, luminous  with  inti'Ili^ence  and  full  of 
sympath\-  for  every  thin:;'  noble  and  elevau'd,  over  |M)\\ered 
with  their  fascination  the  blemishes  that  a  too  curious 
scrutitiy  mii^ht  discover  upon  his  figure  ;  while  his  mobile 
handsome  lips  |)<)ured  out  the  natural  ehxiuenee  of  clear 
thoughts  and  noble  sentiments.  The  ('ount  grew  great 
while  sjieaking ;  his  listeners  were  cairied  away  by  the 
magic  of  his  \'()ice  and  the  clearness  of  his  intellect. 

He  was  \ery  happy  this  morning  by  the  side  of  his  <>ld 
friend  Peter  Kalm.  who  was  paying  him  a  most  welcome 
visit  in  New  I'rance.  They  had  been  fellow  students  both 
at  I'psal  and  at  Paris,  and  V^\^([  each  other  uiih  a 
cordiality,  that  like  good  wine,  giew  richer  and  more 
generous  with  ;ige. 

Herr  Kalm  stretching  out  his  arms  as  if  to  embrace 
the  lo\'ely  landscape,  and  clasp  it  to  his  bosom,  exclaimed 
withi  fresh  enthusiasm,  "See  (Quebec,  and  liv  for  ever  !  " 
'*  Dear  Kalm,"  said  t!ie  (ioveriK)r,  catching  the  fervor 
of  his  friend  as  he  rest.'d  his  hand  al'fectionately  on  his 
shoulder;  "you  are  as  true  a  !o\er  of  nature  as  when  we 
sat  together  at  the  feet  of  Linn.iMis,  our  glorious  young 
master,  anrl  heard  him  open  u)3  for  us  the  arcana  of  (lod's 
works  ;  and  we  used  to  feel  like  him  too.  when  he  thanked 
God  for  permitting  him  to  look  into  his  treasure  house, 
and  see  the  precious  things  of  creation  which  he  had 
made." 

" 'J'ill  men  see  (Quebec,"  replied  Kalm,  "they  will  not 
fully  realize  the  lueaning  of  the  term — '  God's  foolstot^l.' 
It  is  a  land  worth  living  for  !" 

"Not  only  a  land  to  live  for,  but  a  land  l(^  die  for,  and 
hap[)y  the  man  who  dies  for  it  !  Confess,  Kalm  ;  thou 
who  hast  travelled  in  all  lands,  think'st  thcni  not,  it  is 
indeed  worthy  of  its  proud  title  of  New  France  .-"' 


7  HE  CHI  EN'  nOR. 


"  It  is  indeed  worthy,"  replied  Knlm  ;  "  I  see  hero  a 
scion  of  t!ie  old  oak  of  the  Gauls,  which,  if  let  iL^row,  will 
shelter  the  throne  of  Immiicc  itself,  in  an  empire  wider 
than  Ca;sar  wrested  from  Anihiotrix." 

"  Yes,"  ri'plied  the  C'ount,  kindlinuj  at  the  wr)rds  of  his 
friend  ;  "  it  is  old  I'"rance  transplantt;d,  transfiLCured  and 
gloritled  !  where  her  lanj^uaLje,  relii^ion  and  laws  shall  be 
handed  down  to  her  jiosterity,  the  ij;iory  of  North 
America  as  the  mother  land  is  the  li'lorv  of  Iv.irope." 

The  entlnisiastic  (ralissoniere  stretclied  out  his  hands 
and  implored  a  blessing  upon  tiie  land  entrusted  to  his 
kee|)Ini;". 

It  was  a  glorious  morninp;.  Tiie  sun  had  just  risen 
over  the  iiill  lops  of  Lauzon,  throwing  aside  his  drapery  of 
gojfl.  iiurple  and  crimson,  'i'he  soft  haze  of  the  sumriier 
rnoi-ning  was  floating  awav  into  nothingness,  lea\  ing  e\'ery 
object  fresh  with  dew  and  magnified  in  the  limpid  purity 
of  the  air. 

I'he  broad  St.  Lawrence,  f;ir  beneath  their  feet,  was 
still  partia'lv  \eiled  in  a  tiiin  blue  mist,  jiierced  iiere  and 
tiiere  b\'  the  tall  mast  of  a  king's  ship,  or  nu'rcivintman 
l)ing  unseen  at  ar  Ava'  ;  or  as  the  fog  rolled  sh)wlv  o;"f,  a 
swift  canoe  might  be  seen  shooting  out  into  a  streak  of 
sunshine,  with  the  first  news  of  the  m.)rning  from  tiie 
Soutli  shore. 

Ik'ldnd  the  Count  aiul  his  companions  rose  the  white 
clisteninij:  walls  of  the  Hotel  1  )ieu,  and  farth-r  off  the  tall 
tower  of  tlv.'  newly  restored  Cathedral,  the  l)elfry  of  the 
Recollets  and  the  roofs  of  the  ancaent  College  of  the 
Jesuits.  An  awiuie  of  old  oiiks  and  maples  shaded  the 
walk,  and  in  tli<'  branclu's  of  the  trees  a  swirm  of  birds 
fluttered  and  sang,  as  if  in  ii\'alr\'  with  the  ga\'  l'"rench 
talk  and  laui>hter  of  the  "roup  of  ollicers,  who  waited  the 
return  of  the  Cio\ern'>r  from  the  bastion  where  he  stood, 
showing  the  glories  of  (^ueliL'C  to  his  friend. 

The  \\;dls  of  the  cit\'  ran  along  the  v^Vj^a  of  the  clif^ 
ui)wai"(ls  as  they  approached  the  broad  gallery  and  massive 
front  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  and  ascending  the  green 
slope  of  the  broad  glacis,  culminated  in  the  lofty  citadel, 
where  streaming'  in  the  morning  breeze,  radiant  in  the 
sunshine,  and  alone  in  the  blue  sky,  \\a\ed  the  white 
banner  of  I'Vance,  the  sight  (^f  which  sent  a  thrill  of  joy 
and  pride  into  the  hearts  of  her  faitliful  subjects  in  the 
New  World. 


i 


MEX  OF  THE  OLD  REGIME. 


i 


The  broad  I'ay  lay  before  them  round  as  a  shield,  and 
glittering  like  a  mirror  as  the  mist  blew  off  its  surface. 
iJeh'ud  the  sunny  slojies  of  Orleans,  which  the  river 
encircled  in  its  arms  like  a  jj;iant  lover  his  fair  mistress, 
rose  the  bold,  dark  crests  of  the  Laurcntides,  liftin;^  their 
bare  summits  far  away  alonj;  the  course  of  the  ancient 
river,  leavinc;  imaninalion  to  wander  over  the  wild  scenerv 
in  their  midst — the  woods,  i;lens,  and  unknown  iaki-s  and 
rivers  that  lay  hid  far  from  human  ken,  or  known  onlv  to 
rude  sa\'a<j[es,  wild  as  tiie  beasts  of  chase  tiiey  hunted  in 
those  strange  regions. 

Across  the  broad  valley  of  tiie  St.  Charles,  covered 
with  green  lields  and  ripening  harvests,  and  dotted  with 
quaint  old  homesteads  redolent  with  memori'.'s  of  Norman- 
dy and  nritlany,rose  a  long  mountain  ridge,  cox'ered  with 
primeval  woods,  on  theslopeof  wiiich  rose  thegliitering  spire 
of  Charlebourg,  once  a  tiangerous  out])osl  of  civilization. 
The  pastoral  Lairet  was  seen  mingling  its  waU'rs  with 
the  St.  Charles  in  a  little  bay  th.at  preserves  the  name  of 
Jacques  C^artier,  who  with  his  hardy  conqianions  spent  their 
first  winter  in  Canada  on  this  sj^ot,  the  guests  of  the  hos- 
pitable Donacana,  Lord  of  Quebec  and  of  all  the  laiKls 
seen  from  its  lofty  cajie. 

Directly  beneath  the  feet  of  the  (loxernor  on  abroad 
strip  of  land  that  lay  between  the  beach  and  the  preci- 
pice, stood  the  many  gabled  ])alace  of  tiie  Intendant.  the 
most  magr.iticent  structure  in  New  I'rance.  Its  long 
front  of  eight  hundred  feet  overlooked  the  royal  terraces 
and  gardens,  and  beyond  these  the  (|ua\-s  and  magazines 
where  lay  the  ships  of  Px^rtleaux,  .St.  Malo  and  Havre,  un- 
loading the  merchandize  and  luxuries  of  I'ranci'  in  ex- 
change for  the  more  rude  but  not  less  valuable  prcxlucts  of 
the  (olonv. 

Ijctween  the  Palace  and  the  I)asseville  tiie  waves  at 
high  tide  washed  o\er  a  shingly  beach  where  there  were 
already  the  beginnings  of  a  street.  A  few  rude  inns  dis- 
played the  sign  of  the  l"1eur  de  Lys,  or  the  imposing 
head  of  Louis  XV.  Round  the  doors  of  these  inns  in 
summer-tin^.e  might  always  be  found  groups  r)f  loquacious 
Breton  and  Norman  sailors  in  red  cii)s  and  sasiies,  voy- 
ageurs  and  canoemen  from  the  far  west  in  half  Indian  cos- 
tume.drinking  Gascon  wine  and  Norman  cider  or  the  still 
more  potent  liquors  tilled  with  the  lires  of  the  Antilles.  The 


7 HE  CIllEN  nOR. 


7?r7//;/;7' kindled  into  life  on  the  arrival  of  the  fleet  from 
Plome,  and  in  the  evenini^s  of  suninier  ns  tiie  siui  set  be- 
hind the  Cote  a  Jh)n/toiit»ii\\\\ii.  natural  magnetism  of  com- 
panionship drew  the  lasses  of  Quebec  down  to  the  l)each 
where  amid  old  refrains  of  French  ditties,  and  the  nuisie  of 
violins  and  tambours  de  ?)asque,  they  danced  on  the 
green  with  the  jo\ial  sailors  who  brought  news  from  the 
old  land  beyond  the  Atlantic. 

"  Pardon  me,  gentlemen,  for  keej^ing  you  waiting,"  said 
the  (lovernor  as  hedescended  from  the  iJastir.n  and  rejoined 
his  suite.  "  I  am  so  jM'oud  of  our  f^eautiful  (Quebec,  tiiat  I  can 
scarcely  stop  showing  off  its  charms  to  my  friend  lu-rr 
Kalm,  who  knows  so  well  liow  to  apjjreciate  ihem.  but."' 
continued  he,  looking  round  admiringly  on  the  l>ands  of 
citizens  and  J/<i/uf(t>is,  who  wei"e  at  work  strengthening 
every  weak  j:)oint  in  the  forliticaiions  :  "  My  braxx-  Cana- 
dians are  busy  as  beavers  on  their  dam.  They  are  deter- 
mined to  keep  the  saucy  English  out  of  ()uebec.  They  de- 
ser\e  to  have  the  beaver  for  their  crest,  industrious  fellows 
that  they  are  !     I  am  sorry  I  kept  you  wailing,  however." 

"  \\*e  can  never  count  the  moments  lost,  which  your 
Excellency  gives  to  the  survey  of  our  fair  land,"  replied 
the  ]?ishop,  a  grave,  earnest-looking  man.  "Would  that 
His  Majesty  himself  could  stand  on  these  walls  and  see 
with  his  own  eyes,  as  you  do,  this  splendid  patrimony  of 
the  crown  of  France.  He  v,ould  not  dream  of  bartering 
it  away  in  exchange  for  petty  ends  and  corners  of  Ger- 
many and  Flanders  as  is  rumored,  my  Lord." 

"  'I'rue  words  and  good,  my  Lord  ])ishop,"  replied  the 
Governor,  "the  retention  of  all  Idanders  now  in  the  strong 
hands  of  the  Marshal  de  Saxe  would  be  a  poor  compensa- 
tion for  the  surrender  of  a  glorious  land  like  this  to  the 
English." 

Flying  rumors  of  some  such  j^roposal  on  the  ])art  of 
France  had  reached  the  colony,  with  wild  reports  arising 
out  of  the  endless  chaffering  between  the  negotiators  for 
peace  who  had  already  assembled  at  Aix  la  Chapclle. 
"  'I'he  fate  of  America  will  one  day  be  decided  here,"  con- 
tinued the  governor,  "  1  see  it  written  upon  this  rock,  who- 
ever rules  Quebec  will  sway  the  destinies  of  the  continent! 
]\Iay  our  noble  France  be  wise  and  understand  in  time  the 
signs  of  I'jnpire  and  of  supremacy  !  " 

The  Lisliop  looked  upwards  with  a  sigh  :  "  Our  noble 


MEN  OF  THE  OLD  REGIME. 


France  has  not  yet  read  those  tokens,  or  she  misunder- 
stands tb.eni.  Oil,  these  faithful  subjects  of  hers  !  Look 
at  tliem,  your  K.vcedeir:y."  The  Hishoj)  pointed  toward 
the  crowd  of  citizens  hard  at  work  on  the  walls.  "There 
is  not  a  man  of  them,  but  is  ready  to  risk  life  and  fortune 
for  the  honor  and  dominion  of  Fiance,  and  \el  they  are 
treated  by  the  ccnnt  with  such  ne<j;lcct  and  burthened  with 
exactions  that  take  from  life  the  sweet  reward  of  lal)or. 
They  cannot  do  the  impossible  that  France'  requires  of 
them — tii^ht  her  battles,  till  her  tk'lds.  and  see  tiieir  biead 
taken  from  iheni  by  these  new  ordinances  of  the  F.ilentl- 
ant." 

"  Well,  my  Lord,"  replied  the  Governor  aticctinjjj  a  jocu- 
larity lie  did  not  feel,  for  he  knew  how  true  were  the  words 
of  the  Dishoj).  "  We  must  all  do  oiu'  duty,  nevertheless. 
If  France  requires  im])ossibilities  of  us,  we  iiiii^i  perform 
them!  That  is  the  old  sjiirit  !  If  the  skies  fall  upon  our 
heads  we  must  like  true  (iauls  hold  iher.i  up  on  the  points 
of  our  lances!  What  say  y(ni,  Rii^aud  de  Vaudreuil? 
Cannot  one  Canadian  surround  ten  New  Knijlanders  ?  " 
The  (iovernor  alludecl  to  an  exoloit  i^i  the  j/allant  ofticer 
whom  he  turned  to  address. 

"  Probahoji  cst^  youi-  Iv\cellenc\  !  I  once  with  six 
huiulred  Canadians  siu'rounded  all  New  iMiujland.  I'rayers 
were  put  up  in  all  the  churches  of  rx^lon  for  deliverance, 
when  we  swept  the  Connecticut  from  end  to  end  with  a 
broom  of  fire." 

'^  i>ra\e  Riiraud  !  F'rance  has  too  few  like  vou  !  "'  re- 
marked  the  (Jovernor  with  a  look  of  admiration. 

Rigaud  bowed  and  shook  his  head  modestly,  "  I  trust 
she  has  ten  thousand  better,"  but  added,  [)ointin2[  at  his 
fellow  ofiicers  who  stood  conversinj;  a*,  a  short  distance, 
*'  Marshal  Saxe  has  few  the  equals  of  tht.'se  in  his  camp, 
my  Lord  (Jount !  "  and  well  was  the  compliment  deserved. 

They  were  gallant  men.  intelligent  in  looks,  polished  in 
manners  and  brave  to  a  fault,  and  all  full  of  that  natural 
gaiety  that  sits  so  gracefully  on  a  l""rench  soldier, 

IVIost  of  them  wore  the  laced  coat  and  waistcoit,  cha- 
peau,  boots,  lace  rul'lles,  sash  and  rapier  of  the  period.  A 
martial  costume  befitting  !)ia\e  and  hamlsome  men. 
Their  names  were  household  words  in  e\ery  cottage  in 
New  France  and  many  of  them  a^.  fre([uently  spoken  of  in 
the  English  colonies,  as  in  the  streets  of  Quebec. 


8 


rrm  cm  ex  hor. 


There  stood  the  Chevalier  de  I'eaiijeu,  a  f^entleman  of 
N  inian  family,  who  was  ah-eady  famed  upon  tlie  frontier, 
and  who,  se\en  years  later  in  the  forests  oi  the  Monon<2;a- 
hela,  crowned  a  hie  of  honor  by  a  soldier  s  death  on  the 
bloody  field  won  fn^ii  the  unfortunate  IJraddock,  and  de- 
featinijj  an  armv  ten  times  inore  numerous  than  his  own. 

'I'alkin^  !^ayly  wilii  De  Beaujeu  were  twf)  <;"allant  looking 
young  men,  of  a  Canadian  tamily  which,  out  of  seven 
brothers,  lost  six  slain  in  the  service  of  their  King: 
Jimioiiville  de  \'illivrs,  who  was  afterwards,  in  defiance  of 
a  flag  of  truce,  shot  down  by  order  of  Colonel  Washington, 
in  the  far  off  foiests  of  the  Alleghanies  ;  and  his  brother, 
Coulon  de  Villiers,  who  received  the  sword  of  Washington 
Avhen  he  surrendered  himself  and  garrison  prisoners  of  war, 
at  l"'ort  Necessit\-.  in  1754. 

Coulon  de  Villiers  imposed  ignominious  conditions  of 
surrender  upon  Washington,  but  scorned  to  take  other 
revenge  for  the  death  of  his  brother.  He  spared  the  life 
of  Washington,  who  lived  to  become  the  leader  and  itiol  of 
his  nation,  which,  but  for  the  magnanimity  of  the  nol)le 
Canadian,  might  ha\'e  ne\er  struggled   int(;  independence. 

There  stood  also  the  Sieur  de  Lery  (the  King's  engi- 
neer, charged  with  the  fortification  of  the  colony),  a  man  of 
Vauban's  geniiis  in  the  art  of  defence.  Had  the  schemes 
which  he  projected,  and  vainly  urged  upon  the  heedless 
Court  of  X'ersailles,  been  carried  into  effect,  the  conquest 
of  New  l-'rance  would  ha\e  been  an  impossibility. 

Arm  in  arm  with  1  >e  T.ery,  in  earnest  conversation, 
walked  the  handsome  Claude  de  Ik'auharnois — brother  of 
a  former  (ioxernor  of  the  colony — a  graceful,  gallant 
looking  soldier.  De  Heauharnois  was  the  ancestor  of  a 
vigorous  and  beautiful  racx'.  among  whose  posterity  was  the 
fair  Hortense  de  IJeauharnois,  who  in  her  son,  Napoleon 
J II.,  seated  an  offshoot  of  Canada  upon  the  Imperial 
throne  of  France  long  after  the  abandonment  of  their 
ancient  colony  by  the  corrupt  House  of  IJourbon. 

Consj:)icuous  among  the  distinguished  officers,  by  his 
tall,  straight  figure  and  cjuick  movements,  was  the  Che\a- 
lier  la  Corne  St.  Luc,  supple  as  an  Indian  and  almost  as 
dark,  from  exposure  to  the  weather  and  incessant  cam- 
paigning. He  was  fresh  from  the  blood  and  desolation  of 
Acadia,  where  France,  indeed,  lost  her  ancient  colony, 
but  iSt.  Luc  reaped  a  full  sheaf  of  glory  at  Grand    Pr^, 


\ 


MEN  OF  THE  OLD  REGIME. 


\ 


'  f 


in  the  T'ay  of  Miiias.  hy  the  capture  of  an  arni\'  of  \e\v 
I'!n_<;Ian(lers.  'l"he  rou^i^h  old  soldiiT  was  just  now  all 
smiles  and  !j;ayety,  as  he  cotnersed  with  Monseii^neur  De 
Ponlbriant,  the  \enci-al)le  Disiiop  of  (Juebec,  and  l"'ather 
De  l!(;rey,  the  Suiierior  of  the   Recollets. 

The  Hishoji,  a  wise  rul.-r  of  his  ("hureii,  was  also  a 
passionate  loxer  of  his  country  :  the  surrender  of  (^uehec 
to  the  Kn^t;Iish  broke  his  heart,  and  he  died  a  few  months 
after  the  announcement  of  the  fnial  cession  of  the  colony. 

F;:ther  De  iJerey.  a  jo\ial  monk,  wearing  the  ^rey 
gown  and  sandals  of  the  Recollets,  was  renowned  t!.i-)u,uh- 
out  New  I'rance  for  his  wit  more  than  for  his  piety.  He 
had  once  been  a  soldier,  and  be  woie  his  ^own,  as  he  had 
v.-orn  his  uniform,  with  the  f^allaut  brarini^  of  a  K.in<j;'s 
Guardsman.  lUit  the  ])e('])le  loved  him  all  the  more  for 
his  jests,  wiiich  ne\er  lackrd  the  accom|ianiment  of  genuine 
charity.  I  lis  sayings  furiiished  all  .\\  w  I'lance  with  daily 
food  for  mirth  and  l,iu_L;hter,  without  delractinj;'  an  iota 
of  the  resjH'ct  in  whith  the  Recollets  weir  held  tinou^h- 
out  the  colony 

Father  (dapion,  the  Superior  of  the  Jesuit  .  also  accom- 
panied the  Dishop.  Mis  close,  bhick  sont.m.e  (ontrasted 
ofldly  with  the  f;rey,  loose  gown  of  the  RecoUel.  He  was 
a  meditative,  taciturn  man — seeming  rather  to  watch  the 
others  tl<an  to  join  in  the  li\el\-  con\crsation  that  went  on 
around  him.  Anytldng  but  cordialilv  and  i^rotlualy  love 
reigned  between  tiie  Jesuits  and  the  (  )rder  of  St.  i'rancis, 
but  the  Superiors  were  too  wary  to  manifest  towards  each 
other  the  mutual  jealousies  of  their  sub(trtlinates. 

The  long  line  of  fortifications  presented  a  stirring 
ajipearance  that  morning.  The  watch  tires  that  had 
illuminated  the  scene  during  the  night  were  dying  out, 
the  red  embers  |)aling  under  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun, 
Tiom  a  wide  circle  surrounding  the  city,  the  peo|)le  had 
come  ill — many  were  accompanied  by  their  wives  and 
daughters — to  assist  in  making  the  bulwark  of  the  colony 
imi)regnable  against  the  rumored  attack  of  the  luigiish. 

The  peoj)le  of  New  l<'iance,  taught  by  a  hundred  \ears 
of  almf)st  constant  wa  fare  with  the  Fnglish  and  with  the 
savasje  nations  on  their  frontiers,  saw  as  clearK'  as  the 
Governor,  that  the  key  of  I'reiuh  dominion  hung  inside  the 
walls  of  (Quebec,  and  that  for  an  eiuniy  to  gra^.p  it  was  to 
lose   all  they  valued  as  subjects  of  the  Crown  of  France. 


CHAPTrCR   ir. 


THE    W'ALI-S    OF  OUKiiKC. 


1  I 


Count  Dk  i,a  Gat, issonikrr,  accompanied  by  his  dis- 
tini^uislied  attendants,  proceeded  again  on  their  round  of 
inspection.  They  were  everywhere  sahited  with  heads 
uncovered  and  welcomed  by  ht;arty  jLjreetini^s.  'Hie  jk'O- 
ple  of  New  France  had  lost  none  of  tlie  natural  polite- 
ness and  ease  of  their  ancestors  ;  and,  as  every  gentle- 
man of  the  (iovernor's  sui'e  was  at  once  recognized,  a 
conversatio  i.  fiiendly  even  to  fan.iiliarity,  ensued  between 
them  and  the  ciii/ens  and  hahitaiis,  who  worked  as  if  they 
were  building  their  very  souls  into  the  walls  of  the  old 
city. 

"Good  morning,  Sieur  De  St.  Denis!"  gayly exclaimed 
the  Governor  to  a  tall,  courtly  gentleman,  who  was  super- 
intending the  lal)or  of  a  body  of  his  cctisitaircs  from  l>eau- 
port.  "'Many  hamis  make  light  work,'  says  the  proverb. 
That  splendid  batter}-  you  are  just  finishing  deserves  to  be 
called  Heauport.  *'  \Vliat  say  you,  my  Lord  bishop?"  turn- 
ing to  the  smiling  ecclesiastic.  "Is  it  not  wortliv  of  bap- 
tism .? "  ' 

"  W's,  and  blessing  both  :  I  give  it  my  episcopal  bene- 
diction," replied  the  bishop  ;  "  and  truly  I  think  most  of 
the  earth  of  it  is  taken  from  the  consecrated  ground  of  the 
Hotel  Dieu — it  will  stand  fire!" 

"Many  thanks,  my  Lord  ! " — the  Sieur  I)e  St.  Denis 
bowed  very  low — "where  the  Church  bars  the  door,  Satan 
"will  never  enter,  nor  the  English  either!  Do  you  hear, 
men  ?  "  continued  he,  turning  to  his  cciisitaircs,  "  my  Lord 
Bishop  christens  our  batterv  beauport,  and  savs  it  will 
stand  tire!" 

"  Viva  L'  Roi  l""  was  the  response,  an  exclamation  that 
came  spontaneously  to  the  lips  of  all  Frenchmen  on  every 
emergency  of  dangtrr  or  emotion  of  joy. 


•A  . 


THE  WALLS  OF  QUEBEC. 


1 1 


A  slurdy  hahitar  came  forward,  aiul,  (li)rfini:;  his  red 
tuque  or  ca]),  addressed  the  (lovernor — "  This  is  a  <j^o()(l 
battery,  aiy  Lord  Governor,  hut  tliere  oii^ht  to  I)e  one  as 
good  in  our  xiUaijje.  Permit  us  to  build  one  and  man  it  ; 
and  we  promise  your  Excellency  that  no  l*-nL;Iishman  shall 
ever  _c;et  into  the  back  door  of  (J^uebcc.  while  we  have  li\es 
to  defend  it."'  'i'he  old  luihitan  had  the  eye  of  a  soldiiir. 
He  had  been  one.  The  (lovernor  knew  the  value  of  the 
suij^i^estion,  and  at  once  assented  to  it,  addinir:  '*  Xo  lietler 
defenders  of  the  city  could  be  found  anywhere  than  the 
brave  /lahitaiis  of  JJeauport." 

The  comiDliment  was  ne\'er  forj^otten  ;  and  years  after- 
wards, when  \\'olfe  l)esie<;ed  the  city,  the  batteries  of 
lieauj^ort  I'tjU'IIed  the  assault  of  his  hrax'est  troops,  and 
well  ni"h  broke  the  heart  of  the  vounir  hero  over  the 
threatened  defeat  of  his  i^reat  undertakini^,  as  his  brave 
Highlanders  anrl  j^renadiers  lay  slain  by  hundreds  upon 
the  beach  of  I'eauport, 

The  countenances  of  the  hardy  workers  were  suddenly 
covered  with  smiles  of  welcome  recoi;;nition  at  the  sight  of 
the  well-known  Superior  of  the  Recollets. 

"Good  morninij;  !  "  cried  out  a  score  of  voices  ;  "good 
morning,  l''ather  I)e  Ik'rey  I  The  good  wives  f)f  beauport 
send  vou  a  thousand  compliments.  'J'hev  are  dving  to  sec 
the  good  Recollets  down  our  wav  again.  'l"he  Grev  brothers 
have  forsaken  our  parish." 

"  Ah  !  "  replied  the  Superior,  in  a  tone  of  mock  severity, 
wliile  his  eyes  overran  with  mirthfulness.  "you  are  a 
crowd  of  miserable  situiers  who  will  die  without  benefit  of 
clergv — onlv  vou  don't  know  it!  Who  was  it  boiled  the 
Easter  eggs  hard  as  agates  which  xou  gave  to  my  poor 
brother  Recollets  for  tlie  use  of  our  con\ent  ?  'I'ell  me 
that,  pray!  All  the  salts  and  senna  in  (Quebec  have  not 
sufficed  to  restore  the  digestion  of  my  poor  monks  since 
you  played  that  trick  upon  them  down  in  your  misnamed 
village  of  beauport !  '' 

"Pardon!  Reverend  Father  De  berey !  "  replied  a 
smiling  hahitaii :  "  it  was  not  we,  but  the  sacrilegious 
r^?//(?//A' of  St.  Anne,  wlio  boiled  the  I'laster  eggs  !  If  you 
don't  believe  us  send  some  of  the  good  Grey  Friars  down  to 
try  our  love.  See  if  they  do  not  find  e\'erything  soft  r 
them  at  Peauport,  from  our  hearts  to  our  feather  beds,  to 
say  nothing  of  our  eggs  and  bacon.     Our  good  wives  are 


12 


Tin-:  cn/F.y  iroR. 


iairly  im-ltin;^  with  l()iii;iii;^  for  ;i  si^lit  of  llu.'  ^ifV  f;-o\viis 
of  St.  I'lancis  once  nioif  in  our  \ill;i,<;i'." 

"( )li  !  I  daii'  he  hound  the  itiNdl/Zr  of  St.  Anne  are  lost 
do;.;'s  h'ke  youisekes — ( '(//////  i(tlii/t>nniiy 

'Vhc  /'iit/'if(tns  thou_i;lit  lliis  soundi'd  ni<e  a  doxoh»<;\-,  and 
some  crossed  themselves,  amid  the  (hd)ious  hui^hti'r  of 
others,    who   suspected    l''ather  I  )e  \W\\'\  of  a  clerical  lest. 

"Oh!"  continued  he,  "if  fat  I'ather  Ambrose,  the  cook 
of  the  con\ent,  onl\-  had  you,  one  at  a  time,  to  turn  the 
spit  for  him,  in  place  of  the  poor  do;;s  of  (Juchec,  which 
he  has  to  catch  as  best  he  can,  and  set  to  work  in  his 
kitchen  !  but,  \a;^al)on(ls  that  you  are,  you  aie  rarely  set 
to  work  now  on  the  Kind's  <w7'<r — all  work,  little  play,  and 
no  pay !  " 

The  men  took  his  raillery  in  excellent  i)art,  and  one, 
their  spokesman,  bowiiii,^  low  to  the  Superior,  said  :  "  I'or- 
give  us  all  the  same,  <;ood  Father.  The  hard  e<;<^s  of 
]ieau|)oit  will  be  soft  as  lard  compared  with  the  iron 
shells  we  are  j)rej)arin<;  for  the  l'ai_L;lish  breakfast  when 
thev  shall  appi-ar  some  line  mornini;  before  (^)uel)ec." 

"  Ah,  well,  in  that  (Mse  1  nuist  pardon  the  trick  you 
played  upon  IJrolhers  Mark  and  Alexi.s — and  I  ^ive  you 
niv  blessiiiir,  too,  on  condition  vou  send  some  salt  to  our 
convent  to  cuie  our  llsh,  and  save  your  re|)Utations,  which 
are  very  stale  just  now  amoni:;  my  j^ood  Recollets." 

A  general  lau^h  followed  this  sail}-,  and  the  Reverend 
Sujierior  went  otV  meriily,  as  he  hastened  to  catch  uj) 
^vith  the  (Governor,  who  had  moved  on  to  another  jx)int  in 
the  line  of  forlilic-ations. 

Near  the  i;ate  of  St.  John  they  found  a  couple  of  ladies, 
encoura_<;in<i;  by  their  presence  and  kind  words  a  numerous 
party  of  luibitdiis — one  an  elderly  ladv  of  noble  bearinj^; 
and  still  bi'autiful,  the  rich  and  powerful  feudal  Lhdy  of 
the  Lordshi|)  or  Seii^neurie  of  Tilly  ;  the  other  her  orphan 
niece,  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  and  of  surpassin<2^  loveliness 
— the  fair  Amelie  De  Repenti_i;ny,  who  had  loyally  accom- 
panied her  aunt  to  the  caiiital  with  all  the  men  of  the 
Sei;j;nevuie  of  Tilly,  to  assist  in  the  completion  of  its 
defences. 

To  features  which  looked  as  if  chiselled  out  of  the  purest 
Parian  marble,  just  Hushed  with  the  glow  of  morn,  and 
cut  in  tliose  peifect  lines  of  pr()i)ortion  which  nature  only 
bestows  on  a  few  chosen  favorites  at  intervals  to  show  the 


I 


THE  IVAIJ.S  OF  QUEnnc. 


^3 


\ 


possil)ilitics  of  feminine  i)c:iuty,  Aniclio  I  )t'  RcpcntiLjny 
added  a  li:;iire  which,  in  ils  perfect  symmetry,  looUi-d 
smaller  than  it  really  was,  for  she  was  a  tall  \(\\\  :  it  tilled 
the  uyi'  and  ludd  fast  the  fancy  witii  tln'  charnjs  of  a  thou- 
sand i^races  as  she  moved  or  ;Uood,  siiL^i^^-stive  of  the 
beauty  of  a  tanu;  fawn,  that  in  all  its  movements  pre- 
serves sf)mewhal  of  the  coyness  and  easy  ;;raceof  its  free  life 

Her  hair  was  very  dark  and  thick,  matchir.:j;  her  deep 
licpiid  eves,  that  lay  for  the  most  part  so  {[uietly  and  rest- 
fulK'  beneath  their  lonuj  shading;  laslu^s.  I"",yes  sjjentle, 
frank,  and  modest — looking  lendcrly  on  a'l  thin,L,^s  innocent, 
fearlessly  on  all  things  haiinful  ;  cyi-s  that  nexcrtiu'Iess 
nf)t((l  every  change  of  your  countenance,  and  read  uner- 
ringly your  mi-aninj;  more  from  your  looks  than  from 
your  words.  Xothini^  scemc'd  to  hide  itself  from  that 
pure,  searchini^  glance  whrn  she  chose  to  look  at  you. 

In  theii"  (K  pth^  you  mi^ht  read  the  tokens  of  a  rare 
and  noble  character — a  capabilit}'  of  jovinij;  which,  once 
enkindled  b\'  a  worthy  object,  mi^lit  make  all  thinL';s  that 
are  possible  to  devoted  wominhood,  possible  to  this 
woman,  who  would  not  count  her  life  auNthinj;  either 
for  the  m  \\\  slu-  loved  or  the  cause  she  espoused.  .Vmc'lie 
De  Kept'nti,i;iiy  will  not  yield  her  heart  without  her  judi;- 
ment  ;  but  when  she  does,  it  will  b«;  a  royal  ^ifl — never  to 
be  recalled,  never  to  be  repented  of.  to  the  end  of  lu-r  life. 
Happy  the  man  upon  whom  she  shall  l)estow  her  affec- 
tion I  it  will  he  his  for^'ver.  Tnliaivjiy  all  others  wiio 
mav  l<ne  her!  She  may  pity,  but  she  will  listen  to  no 
voice  but  the  one  which  rules  her  heart,  to  her  life's  end! 

l>oth  ladies  were  in  mourninLT.  \"el  dressed  with  eley^ant 
simplicity,  belitlin^;  their  rank  and  positi<  n  in  society.  The 
Chevalier  Le  (lardeur  de  I'iliy  hid  fillen  two  years  ai^o, 
fiijhtinir  trallantlv  for  his  Kim:  and  countrv,  lea\an;r  a  child- 
less  widow  to  manaL:,"i'  his  vast  doin  lin  and  succ(.'ed  him  as 
sole  guardian  of  their  orphan  niece,  Ameli(.'  de  Kej)en- 
tiiinv,  and  her  brother  Le  (xardeur,  left  in  infancv  to  the 
care  of  their  noble  relatives,  who  in  every  respect  treated 
them  as  their  own,  and  who,  indeed,  were  the  lei^al  inheri- 
tors of  the  Lordsliip  of   Tilly. 

( )idy  a  year  aL;o,  Amelie  had  left  the  atKaent  convent 
of  the  Ursulines,  perfi'cted  in  all  the  graces  and  accom- 
plishments taught  in  the  famous  cloister  founded  bv  Mere 
Marie  de  1" Incarnation,  for  the  education  of  liie  daughters 


14 


TIIF.  C///F.X  nOR. 


of  New  France,  c^enerntlon  after  p^cneration  of  whom  were 
trained  accordinj;  to  her  precepts,  in  j^ract-s  of  manner,  as 
well  as  in  the  learning;  of  the  a^;e — the  hitter  miijjiU  be  for- 
i^^ottcn — the  former,  never.  As  they  l)ecame  tlie  wives  and 
mothers  of  succeechn;;  times,  tliey  liave  left  U|)on  their  de- 
sceiuhmts  an  imjiress  of  jiohteness  and  urbanity  that(hstin- 
p^uishes  tile  people  of  Canada  to  this  day. 

Of  all  the  crowd  of  fair  eajj^er  asj^iranis  contendinjij  foi 
honors  on  the  day  of  examination  in  the  f^i-^at  school, 
crowns  had  only  been  awarded  to  Anielie  and  to  Am^elifiue 
des  Mcloiscs,  Two  <j,irls  ec|ual  in  beauty,  j^race  and  ac- 
complishments, but  unlike  in  character  and  in  destiny. 
The  currents  of  liieir  li\es  ran  smoothly  together  at  the 
btj^inning.  How  widely  different  was  to  be  the  ending  of 
them  ! 

The  brother  of  Ame'lie,  Le  Oardeur  de  Repentigny, 
was  her  elder  by  a  year — an  officer  in  the  King's  service, 
handsome,  bra\'e,  generous,  devoted  to  his  sister  and  aunt, 
but  not  free  from  some  of  the  vices  of  the  times.  pre\'alent 
among  the  young  men  of  rank  and  fortune  in  the  colony, 
who  in  dress,  luxury  and  innnoralit}',  strove  to  imitate  the 
brilliant,  dissolute  Court  of  Louis  XV. 

Amelie  passionately  loved  her  brother,  and  endeavored 
— not  without  success,  as  is  the  way  with  women — to  blind 
lierself  to  his  faults.  She  saw  him  seldom,  lunvever,  and 
in  her  solitar\-  musings  in  the  far  off  Manor  House  of  Tilly, 
she  invested  him  witli  all  the  ])erfections  he  did  and  did 
not  |)ossess  ;  and  turned  a  deaf,  almost  an  angry  ear,  to  tales 
whisjiered  in  his  disparagement. 


CHAPTER  HI. 


A    CHATELAINE    OF    NEW    FRANCE. 


The  Governor  was  surprised  and  delighted  to  encounter 
Lady  de  Till}'  and  her  fair  niece,  1)oth  of  whom  were  well 
known  to,  and  higlily  esteemed  by  him.  He  and  the  gentle- 
men of  his  suite  saluted  them  with  profound  resjDect,  not 
unmingled  with  chivalrous  admiration  for  noble,  high- 
spirited  women. 


/f  CriATELArXE  OF  NEW  I'RAXCE. 


IS 


*'  My  honored  Lady  do  'J'illy  and  Mademoiselle  dc  Ke- 
penti;4ny:"  said  the  (lovernor — hat  in  hand — "welcome 
to  (Juehec.  It  does  not  surprise,  hut  it  does  delight  me 
beyond  measure  to  meet  you  here  at  the  head  of  your  loyal 
o'/i.<if,r//y<.  I'ul  it  is  not  the  fust  time  that  tin-  la<lies  of 
the  i  louse  of  Tiilv  have  tufuetl  out  to  defend  the  ilin";'s 
forts  a.'^aiuNi  his  enemies." 

This  he  snid  in  allusion  to  the  j:;allanl  defence  of  .1  fort 
on  tlu-  wild  Iro(|Uois  frontier,  hy  a  foiiuer  lady  of  her  house, 
who,  ujiile  her  husband  lay  wouiuled  within  the  walls,  as- 
sumed the  conuiiand  of  the  ;;an  isf»n,  repulsed  the  savage 
enemy,  and  sa\ed  the  lives  of  all  from  the  lire  and  scalping 
knife. 

'*  My  Lord  Coinit  I  "'  replied  the  T,ady  with  (piiet  dignity, 
""{'is  no  special  meiii  of  the  house  of  Tilly  to  be  tiue  to 
its  ancienl  fame.  It  could  not  be  otherwise.  Hut  your 
ihaiiks  are  at  tliis  time  more  diii-  tf)  these  loyal  Jlahitans^ 
who  ha\e  so  promptly  obe^-ed  \-our  luoclamation.  It  is  the 
Kind's  lOri't'c  to  restore  the  walls  of  (Juebec,  and  no 
Canadian  may  withhold  his  hand  from  it  without  disj^race." 

"The  ('l!i'\aJi^'r  La  Come  St.  Lu(~  will  think  us  two  poor 
women  a  weak  accession  to  the  garrison,"  added  she,  turn- 
ing;- to  the  Chevalier  and  cordially  olTei'inL;-  her  liand  to  the 
bra\e  old  olTicer  who  had  been  the  conuade  in  arms  and 
the  dearest  friend  of  her  familv. 

'' Cood  1)K)(k1  never  fails.  My  Lady,"  returned  the 
Chexalier  warmly  j^raspiufj;  her  hand,  "you  out  of  place  here  ! 
no  I  no  !  you  are  at  home  on  the  rami)arls  of  (Quebec,  (piite 
as  mu(  h  as  in  your  own  drawing-room  at  Till}".  The  _i;al- 
lani  KinL,^  hraiuMs  used  to  say,  that  a  court  without  ladies, 
was  a  \v\\\  without  a  si)rin_i;"  and  a  summer  without  roses. 
The  walls  of  (^uibec  without  a  Tilly  and  a  Repent ii^ny 
would  be  a  bad  omen  indeed,  worse  tlian  a  j'ear  without  a 
sprin<;  or  a  sunuiier  without  roses.  But  where  is  my  dear 
goddaughter  Amelie  ?  " 

As  he  spoke  the  old  soldier  embraced  Amc'lic  and 
kissed  her  cheek  with  fatherly  effusion.  She  was  a  jirodig- 
ious  favorite.  "  Welcome  Amelie  !"  said  he,  "the  sight  of 
you  is  like  tlowers  in  June.  What  a  glorious  time  you  have 
had,  growing  taller  and  prettier  every  day,  all  the  time  I 
have  been  sleeping  by  camp  hres  in  the  forests  f)f  Acadia  ! 
But  you  girls  are  all  alike  ;  win"  I  hardly  knew  my  own 
pretty  Agalhe  when  I  came  home.     The  saucy  minx  almost 


i6 


THE  cm  EN  D'Ofi, 


kissL'd  my  eyes  out,  'o  dry  the  tears  of  joy  in  ihcm,  she 
said!".    . 

Ainclii!  l)lushc'(l  dcciily  at  the  praises  bestowed  upon 
her,  set  felt  <;lad  to  know  that  iu-r  "godfather  jctained  all 
his  old  alTection.  "W'hcu'  is  Le  (iardt-ur?"  asked  Iil',  as 
she  took  his  arm  and  walked  a  few  paces  apart  from  the 
throng. 

Amelie  colored  deeply  and  hesitated  a  moment.  "  I  do 
not  know,  ^odfithcr  !  \\'e  have  not  seen  Le  Oardi'ur  since 
our  arrival."  'I'lien  after  a  nervous  silence  she  added  :  ''  I 
liave  been  told  that  he  is  at  Heaumanoir,  iiunling  with  His 
Excellencv  tlu'   Intendant." 

La  Come,  seein:^  her  eiubarrassment.  understood  the 
reluctance  of  hei'  avowal,  and  sympathized  with  it.  An 
anjj;r\'  li;;ht  Ihished  beiieaih  his  shiijL^i^y  eyelashes,  but  he 
suppressed  his  thouijjhts.  \\  t  could  not  hel|3  remarkina^ 
however,  "With  the  Intendant  at  iieaumanoir  !  I  coukl 
ha\e  wished  Le  (Jarchnu*  in  better  company !  No  ^rood 
can  come  of  his  intimacy  with  l»i,L;ot,  Ameb-j,  you  nuist 
wean  him  from  it.  He  should  have  been  in  the  city  to 
receive  )Ou  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly." 

"  So  he  doubtless  would  have  been,  had  he  known  of 
our  comint;.  We  sent  word,  but  he  was  away  when  our 
messen:j;er  reached  the  city." 

Amelie  felt  half  ashamed,  for  she  was  conscious  that 
she  was  offering'  something  unreal  to  extenuate  the  fault  of 
her  brother.      Her  ho|)(;s  rather  than  her  convictions. 

"Well,  well!  goil(laui;hter  !  we  shall,  at  any  rate,  soon 
have  the  pleasure  of  seein*j;  I.,e  (iardeu'\  The  Intendant 
himself  li;is  been  sunuuoned  to  attend  a  council  of  war  to- 
day.    Colonel  rhilibert  left  an  hour  aijo  for  IJeaumanoir." 

Amelie  jj;a\e  a  slight  start  at  the  name,  she  looked  in- 
quiriiii^ly,  but  did  not  yet  ask  the  question  that  trembled  on 
her  lii)s. 

"  Thanks,  ij^odfather,  for  the  ojood  news  of  Le  Gardcur's 
speedy  return."  Amelie  talked  on,  her  thoughts  but  little 
accompanying  her  words,  as  she  repeated  to  herself  the 
name  of  IMiilibert.  "  Have  vou  heard  that  the  Intendant 
wishes  to  bestow  an  important  and  honorable  post  in  the 
Palace  upon  Le  Cxardeur,— my  biother  wrote  to  that  effect  ?" 

"  An  important  and  honorable  jiost  in  the  I'alace." 
The  old  soUlier  emphasized  the  word  honorixblc.  "  No,  I 
had  not  heard  of  it,  never  expect  to  hear  of  an  honorable 


A  CHATFJ.AIXF.  OF  NEW  1-RA.\'C1: 


J7 


»n 

lit 
Lo- 

n- 
^\\ 

's 
Ic 
he 
Int 
no 
I?" 

r 

lie 


post  in  the  coin|);iiiy  of  l)i;jjol,  (!;i(lct,  V;irin,  Dt;  Poan,  aiul 
tlio  rest  of  tin.'  scoundri'ls  of  the  l-'iiponiu'  !  I'.irdon  me, 
dear,  I  do  not  class  Le  (i  irdeur  ainon;;  iluin,  fai  from  it, 
dear  deliidfd  ho)'  !  My  best  hope  isiiial  Coloiu-l  rhilihert 
\vill  find  liim  and  brinj;  him  clean  and  t  Icar  out  of  their 
chilches." 

'I'he  question  that  had  trt'inbk'd  on  her  lips  came  out 
now.      I'or  iier  life  she  could  not  have  retained  it  lonj^er. 

"Who  is  Colonel  I'hilibert  ?  -godfather,"  asked  she, 
surprise,  curiosity  and  a  still  deeper  inunst  markinjij  her 
voice,  in  sj)ite  of  all  she  could  do  to  appear  indilferent. 

''Colonel  IMiiliherl?"  rejieatcd  L;i  Corne.  "  Why,  do 
not  you  know?  who,  hut  our  youn^  J'ierre  IMiilihert,  you 
have  not  forgotten  him  surely,  Amclie  ?  At  any  rate  he 
has  not  forirotlen  \()u.  In  manva  lon;r  ni":ht  bv  our  watch 
fires  in  the  forest,  has  Colonel  I'hilibcil  ])assed  the  hours 
talking;  of  Tilly  and  the  dear  friends  he  left  there.  Vour 
brother  at  any  rale  will  ^^ratefully  remendjer  I'hilibert  when 
he  sees  him." 

Amelic  blushed  a  little  as  she  replied  somewhat  shyly, 
*' Yes,  ;j;o(lfaih(.'r,  1  remend)er  Pierre  Philiberl  very  well — • 
with  i^ralitude  I  remember  him — but  1  never  heard  him 
called  ("olonel  I'hilibert  before." 

"Oh,  true!  He  has  been  so  long  absent.  He  left  a 
simple  ensii^n  <•// .f^vw/(/ and  returns  a  Colonel,  and  has  the 
stuff  in  hinj  to  make  a  J''ield  Marshal  !  He  j;ained  his 
rank  where  iie  won  his  silorv,  in  .Vcadia.  .'V  noble  fellow 
Amelie,  loving  as  a  woman  to  his  friends  ;  but  to  his  foes, 
stern  as  the  old  I'oiujjjeois,  his  father,  who  placed  that 
tablet  of  the  2jf)lden  doLj  upon  the  front  of  his  house  to  spite 
the  Cardinal  they  say.  'J'lie  act  of  a  bold  man  let  what 
will  be  the  true  interpretation  of  it." 

"  I  iiear  everyone  speak  well  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert." 
remarked  Amelie,  "  Aunt  de  'J'illy  is  ever  enthusiastic  in 
his  commendation.  She  says  he  is  a  true  gentleman, 
although  a  trader." 

"  Why,  he  is  noble  by  birth,  if  that  be  needed,  and  has 
got  the  king's  license  to  trade  in  the  colony  like  some 
other  gentlemen  I  wot  of.  He  was  Count  I'hilibert  in 
Normandy,  although  he  is  j^lain  IJourgeois  I'hilibert  in 
Quebec,  and  a  wise  man  he  is  too,  for  with  his  ships  and  his 
comptoirs  and  his  ledgers  he  has  traded  himself  into  being 
the  richest  man  in  New  France,  while  we  with  our  nobility 


i8 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


and  our  swords  have  fought  ourselves  poor,  and  receive 
nothin,<,f  but  contempt  from  the  ungrateful  courtiers  of 
Versailles." 

i'heir  conversation  was  interrupted  l)y  a  sudden  rush  of 
people,  making  roran  for  the  passage  of  the  Regiment  of 
liearn,  whicli  composed  part  (.A  the  garrison  of  (Quebec,  on 
their  nmrch  to  tlK'ir  mv)riiing  drill,  and  guard  mounting, 
bold  dashing  (Jascons  in  blue  and  white  uniforms,  tall  caps 
and  long  queues  rollicking  down  their  supple  backs,  seldom 
seen  by  an  enemy. 

M()untc;d  (irticc'-s,  laced  and  ruffled,  gayly  rode  in  front. 
Subalterns  with  sr-vjiitoons  and  sergeants  with  halberts 
dressed  tlie  long  line  of  glistening  bayonets.  The  drums 
and  lifes  made  the  streets  ring  again,  while  the  men  in  full 
chorus,  a  .i^o'^r  dcployec,  chanted  the  gay  refrain  of  La  Belle 
Canadicnih\  in  honor  of  the  lasses  of  (Quebec  wiiose  bright 
eyes  ever  looked  kindly  upon  tlie  royal  uniform,  and  whose 
sweet  smiles  were  ne\er  withheld  from  the  gallant  soldiers 
wearing  it,  whether  Gaul  or  Briton.  • 

The  (k)vernor  and  his  suite  had  already  mounted  their 
horsis  which  were  waiting  for  them  at  the  city  gate,  and 
cantered  off  to  the  Esplanade  to  witness  the  review. 

"  Come  and  dine  with  us  to-day,"  said  the  Lady  de 
Tilly  t(j  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  as  he  too  bade  the  ladies  a  court- 
eous adieu,  and  got  f)n  horseback  to  ride  after  the  Governor. 

"  Many  thanks  !  but  I  fear  it  will  be  impossible,  my 
ladv.  'I'he  council  of  war  meets  at  the  Castle  this  after- 
noon.  Tbe  hour  may  be  deferred,  however,  should  Colonel 
I'hilibert  not  chance  to  lind  the  Intendant  at  lieaumanoir, 
and  then  I  might  cnme  ;  but  best  not  expect  me." 

A  slight  conscious  Hush  just  touched  the  cheek  of 
Amelie  at  the  mention  of  Colonel  Philibert. 

"  FUit  come  if  jiossible,  godfather,"  added  she,  ''  we  hope 
to  have  Le  Gardeur  home  this  afternoon.  He  loves  you 
so  much,  and  I  know  you  have  countless  things  to  say  to 
him." 

Amelie's  trembling  anxiety  about  her  brother,  made  her 
most  desirous  to  bring  the  powerful  influence  of  La  Corne 
St.  Luc  to  bear  upon  him. 

Their  kind  old  irodfather  was  regarded  with  filial  rev- 
erence  by  both.  Amelie's  father  dying  on  the  battle  field, 
had  with  his  latest  breath  conunended  the  care  of  his 
children  to  the  love  and  friendship  of  La  Corne  St.  Luc. 


A  CHATELAIXE  OF  NEW  FRANCE. 


19 


•r- 
icl 

of 


le 


'» 
^s 


"Well  Anii'lio,  blessed  are  they  wh)  do  not  promise 
and  still  perform.  I  must  try  and  meet  my  dear  boy,  so 
do  not  quite  place  me  anioni;'  the  impossibles,  (jood  bye, 
my  Lady.  (lood  bye,  Anu'lie."  '{"he  old  soldier  gaily 
kissed  his  hand  and  rode  away. 

Amelie  was  tlioroii^iily  surprised,  and  aujitatcd  out  of 
all  composure  b}-  the  news  of  the  return  of  Pierre  IMiiiibert. 
She  turned  aside  from  the  busy  throni;  that  surrounded 
her,  lea\inG;  her  aunt  en^a^ed  in  e:ii;er  comersation  with  the 
IJishop  and  I'ather  de  lierey.  She  sat  down  in  a  cpiiet  em- 
brasure of  the  wall,  and  with  one  hand  restini:;  her  droop- 
ing cheek,  a  train  of  reminiscence's  tlew  across  her  mind 
like  a  flight  of  pure  doves  suddenly  startled  out  of  a 
thicket. 

Siie  remeinbered  vi\idly  Pierre  Philibert  tlie  friend  and 
fellow  student  of  her  brother.  He  spent  so  niaiiy  of  his 
holidays  at  the  old  manor  house  of  Tilly,  when  she,  a  still 
younger  girl,  shared  their  sports,  wove  chaplets  of  ilowers 
for  them,  or  on  her  shaggy  pony  rode  with  them  o!i  many 
a  scamper  through  the  wild  woods  of  the  Seigneurie. 
Those  summer  and  winter  vacations  of  the  old  Seminary 
of  Quebec  used  to  be  looked  forward  to  by  the  young  lively 
girl  as  the  brightest  spots  in  the  whole  year,  and  she  grew 
hardly  to  distinguish  the  affection  she  l)ore  her  brother 
from  the  regard  in  which  she  held  Pierre  Piiilibert. 

A  startling  incident  hajipened  one  day.  that  tilled  the 
inmates  of  the  Manor  house  with  terror,  followed  by  a 
great  joy,  and  which  raised  Pierre  Piiilibert  to  the  rank 
of  an  unparalleled  hero  in  the  imagination  of  the  young 
girl. 

Her  brother  was  gambolling  carelessly  in  a  canoe, 
while  she  and  Pierre  sat  on  the  bank  watching  him.  'I'he 
light  craft  suddenly  upset.  Le  (kirdeur  struggled  for  a 
few  moments  and  sank  under  the  blue  waves  that  look  so 
beautiful  and  are  so  cruel. 

Amelie  shrieked  in  the  wildest  terror  and  in  helpless 
agony,  while  Philibert  rushed  without  hesitation  into  the 
water;  swam  out  to  the  s[)ot  aiul  di\ed  with  the  agilitv  of 
a  beaver.  He  presently  re-appeared  bearing  the  inanimate 
body  of  her  brother  to  the  shore.  Help  was  soon  obtain- 
ed and  after  long  efforts  to  restore  Le  Gardeur  to  con- 
sciousness, efforts  which  seemed  to  last  an  age  to  the  des- 
pairing girl,  they  at  last  succeeded,  and   Le  Gardeur  was 


20 


THE  CITIF.N  D'OR. 


restored  to  the  ai'ins  of  his  familv.  A)iielie.  in  a  delirium 
of  joy  and  ijratitude.  ran  to  I'hililiert,  threw  her  arms 
round  him  and  kissed  him  attain  and  ai^ain,  pled^injjj  her 
eternal  i;ratitu(k'  to  the  preserver  of  her  brodier.  and  vow- 
ing that  she  wouhl  \\x\\\  for  him  to  lur  life's  end. 

Soon  after  that  memorable  e\ent  in  her  youm^  life, 
Pierie  i'hiliherl  was  sent  to  tlu-  great  military  schools  in 
l-'rance.  to  studv  the  art  of  war,  with  a  \ie\v  to  entering  the 
King's  serxice  ;  while  Ame'lie  was  jilaeed  in  the  Convent 
of  the  Trsulines  to  he  jX'rfected  in  all  the  knowledge  and 
aceomi)lishments  of  a  ladv  of  highest  rank  in  the  Colony. 

Despite  the  ((.'Id  shade  of  a  eloister,  where  the  idea  of 
a  lover  is  forbidden  to  enter,  the  image  of  I'ierre  Philibert 
did  intiude,  and  bi'came  inseparable  fr(Mii  the  recollection 
of  her  brother  in  the  mind  of  Amelie.  He  mingled  as  the 
fairy  pi'ince  in  the  day  dreams  and  bright  imaginings  of 
the  \oung  poetic  girl.  She  had  vowed  to  pra\"  for  him  to 
her  life's  end,  and  in  jmrsuance  of  her  vow  added  a  golden 
bead  to  her  chaplet  to  remind  her  of  lu-r  duty  in  i)raying 
for  the  safetv  and  happiness  of   Pierre  I'hilibert. 

Ihit  in  the  (]uiet  life  of  the  Cloister,  Ame'lie  heard  little 
of  the  stoiins  of  war  upon  the  frontier,  and  down  in  the 
far  \'allevs  of  Acadia.  She  had  not  f(^l lowed  the  career 
of  I'ierre  from  the  military  school  to  the  camp  and  the 
battle  field,  nor  knew  of  his  rajiid  promotion  as  one  of  the 
ablest  offKX'rs  in  the  King's  service  to  a  high  command  in 
his  native  Colony. 

Her  surprise,  therefore,  was  extreme  when  she  learned 
that  the  bov  companion  of  her  brother  and  herself  was 
no  other  than  the  renowned  Colonel  I'hilibert,  Aid  de  Camp 
of   I  lis  ivxcellency  the  Cio\'ernor  (Jeneral. 

Tlnrc  was  no  cause  for  shame  in  it  ;  but  her  heart  was 
suddenly  ilhuninated  by  a  Hash  of  introspection.  She  be- 
came painfulb'  conscious  how  much  I'ierre  Philibert  had 
occui)ie{l  her  thoughts  for  years,  and  now  all  at  once  she 
knew  he  was  a  man,  and  a  great  and  noble  one.  She  was 
thoroughlv  perplexed  and  half  angry.  Shcfjuestioned  her- 
self sharply,  as  if  running  thorns  into  her  tlesh,  to  inquire 
whether  she  had  failed  in  the  least  point  of  maidenly 
modesty  and  reserxe.  in  thinking  so  much  of  him  ;  and 
the  moi^e  she  questioned  Jierself  the  more  agitated  she 
grew  under  her  self  accusation.  Her  tenqiles  throbl)ed 
violently.     She  hardly  dared  lift  her  eyes  from  the  ground 


A  CIIATELAIXE  OF  NEW  FRANCE. 


21 


he 

ihe 

in 

rd 
V.IS 

np 

,';is 

pe- 

Lul 

he 

ias 

^r- 

|re 

Iv 

11(1 

lie 

I'd 

kI 


lest  some  one,  even  a  strani^er,  she  thoiiiiht.  niiij;ht  see  lier 
confusion  and  read  its  cause.  *'  Sancta  Maria,"  she  nuir- 
niured,  jjiessinij^  her  hosoni  with  Ixith  hands.  '*  cahn  my 
soul  with  thy  divine  peace,  for  I  know  not  what  to  do  !  " 

So  she  sat  alone  in  the  embrasure,  lixiiii;-  a  life  of  emo- 
tion in  a  few  minutes  ;  nor  did  she  tind  any  calm  for  her 
agitated  s|)irits  until  the  thoui;ht  flashed  upon  her  that  she 
was  distressin«;  herself  needless!}-,  it  was  most  improba- 
ble that  Colonel  I'hilibert,  after  \ears  of  absence  and  ac- 
tive life  in  the  world's  ^reat  affairs,  could  ret;iin  any  recol- 
lection of  the  school  <;irl  of  the  Manor  house  of  'I'illy. 
She  mi^ht  meet  him,  nay,  was  certain  to  do  so  in  the  society 
in  which  both  moved;  but  it  would  surely  be  as  a  stranger 
on  his  part,  and  she  must  make  it  so  on  her  own. 

With  this  em])ty  piece  of  casuistry,  Amelie.  like  otiiers 
of  her  sex,  placed  a  hand  of  steel,  encased  in  a  silken 
glox'e,  upon  her  heart,  and  tvrannicallv  suppressed  its  \earn- 
ings.  Slie  was  a  victim,  widi  the  outwarcl  shov/  of  coiuiuest 
over  her  feelings,  in  the  consciousness  of  I'hilibrrt's  im- 
agined indiri"eii.'nce,  and  utter  for^ctfulness.  she  could  mret 
him  now,  she  tlioui;lit,  with  etiuanimiiy — n;;v,  rather  wi- li- 
ed to  d()  so,  to  make  su.rr  that  she  had  not  been  _L;uill\-  of 
weakness  in  rej^ard  to  him.  She  looked  up,  i)ui  was  i;lad 
to  see  her  aunt  still  en^a^'d  in  conversation  witli  the 
Bishop,  on  a  topic  which  Amelie  knew  was  dear  to  tin  ni 
both,  the  care  of  the  soiils  and  bcch'es  of  the  poor,  in  par- 
ticular those  for  whom  the  Lady  tie  'rill\'  felt  herself  re- 
sponsible to  Clod  and  the  Kinj^. 

While  Amelie  sat  thinking-  o\er  the  strange  chances  of 
the  mornin<2^,  a  sudden  whirl  of  whi'els  drew  her  attenti'.Mi. 
A  gay  caleche,  drawn  b}-  two  spirited  horses,  <■/////•<■//.■,  dasii- 
ed  through  the  <;ateway  of  St.  John,  and  wheeliuLC  swiftly  to- 
wards Anii'lie,  sudderd}'  halted.  A  younij  lad}',  attired  in  the 
gayest  fashion  of  tlie  period,  throwing  the  reins  to  tiie 
groom,  sprang  out  of  the  caleche  with  the  ease  and  elas- 
ticity of  an  antelope.  She  ran  up  the  rampart  to  .Amelie 
with  a  glad  cry  of  recognition,  repeating  her  name  in  a 
clear  musical  xoice,  which  Amelie  at  once  knew  belonged 
to  no  other  than  tliegny,  Ijeautiful  .\nge'li(iue  des  Meloises. 
The  new  comer  embraced  Amelie  and  kissed  her  with 
warmest  exjiressions  of  joy  at  meetir.g  her  thus  unexpect- 
edlv  in  the  citv.  She  had  learned  that  Lady  cU'  'I'illy  had 
returned  to  (Quebec,  she  said,  and  she  had,  therefore,  taken 


32 


THE  ciriEy  iroR. 


tlic  earliest  opportunity  to  find   out   her   dear  friend  and 
school  fellow,  to  tell  her  all  the  doin^^^s  in  the  eity. 

"  It  is  kind  of  ynu,  An^eliciue,"  replied  Anielie,  retiuMi- 
injjj  her  earess  warndy,  hut  without  effusion.  "  W'e  iiave 
simply  come  with  our  peojile  to  assist  in  the  Kiuijj's  con'cc. 
When  that  is  done  wtr  siiall  return  to  Tilly.  1  felt  sure,'  I 
should  meet  }()u,  and  thoui^hl  1  shoidd  know  you  a^i^ain 
easiK',  whieh  I  hardly  do.  How  nou  are  chaniijjed,  for  the 
better,  1  should  say,  since  you  left  off  conventual  cap  and 
costume!"  Amc'-lie  could  not  hut  look  admiiiu'.dy  on  the 
beautv  of  the  radiant  irirl.  "How  handsome  nou  have 
grown  !  but  yon  were  always  that.  We  both  look  the 
crown  of  honor  together,  but  you  would  alone  lake  the 
crown  of  beauty,  An^eliciue."  Amelie  stood  off  a  pace  or 
two  and  looked  at  her  fiiend  from  head  to  foolwiih  honest 
admiration,  "  and  would  deser\'e  to  wear  it  too,"  added  she. 

"  I  like  to  hear  you  saN'  that,  Amt'lie,  I  shouKl  prefer 
the  crown  of  beaut}-  to  all  other  erowns  !  \'ou  half  smile 
at  that,  .')at  1  nnist  tell  tbe  tiuth,  if  you  do.  Dut  _\"ou  were 
always  a  truth  teller,  \(ui  know,  in  the  con\-enl.  and  I  was 
not  so  !      Lei  us  cease  fialteiies." 

An^L:;e'!i(iue  felt  hij^hly  llattered  b}'  the  jiraise  of  Amelie 
whom  slu'  had  sometimes  condescended  to  en\y  for  her 
graceful  tii^ure  and  lo\ely  (■.\i)iessi\e  featuics. 

"(lentlemen  often  s|)i'ak  as  you  do,  Ameli-.'."  contiiuied 
she,  '' but.  nsliawl  tlu;v  cannot  jud^e  a>  u,irls  do,  \()u 
know.  but  do  you  really  think  me  beautiful  ?  and  iu»w 
beautiful  .^     Comj^are  me  to  some  one  we  know." 

''  I  can  ovih'  compare  you  to  yourself.  Ani;eliciue.  \'ou 
are  more  beautiful  than  any  one  I  know,"  Aiui'lie  burst 
out  in  frank  entluisiaNm. 

"  I'.ul,  reallv  and  iruh.  do  von  think  me  beautiful,  not 
only  in  }our  eyes.  i)ut  in  the  judi^ini-nt  of  the  world.''" 

Aui^elitjue  brushed  back  her  j;lorious  hair  and  stared 
fi.\edl\-  in  the  face  of  her  friend,  as  if  seekini;  contninalion 
of  somethini;'  in  her  own  thoughts. 

"What  a  strange  question,  Angc'lique.  Why  do  you 
ask  me  in  that  way  .'  " 

"  I'ecause,"  replied  she  with  bittei'ness.  "  I  bcii^in  to 
doubl  it.  1  have  been  jjraised  for  mv  j^^ood  looks  until  1  j.i;row 
weary  of  the  iteration  ;  but  I  believed  the  lyinj;'  Hatlery 
once,  as  what  woman  would  not,  when  it  is  repeated  every 
day  of  her  life  ?  " 


A  CTTATELAINF.  OF  NEW FRAXCE. 


23 


l'>t 
■d 

[o 
|\v 

|y 
y 


Anic'lic  looked  suirKiciul}-  i)ii//lc(l.  *'  What  has  come 
over  }(ni,  Ani^cliciuc  ?  W'liy  should  you  doubt  your  own 
charms?  or  rcalh",  ha\c  vou  touiul  at  last  a  case  in  which 
they  fail  you  ?  "' 

V'erv  unlikely,  a  man  would  say.  at  fir>t.  second  or 
third  si^i^Hit  of  An_u,eiique  dcs  Mel oises.  She  was  indeed  a 
fair  L^irl  to  look  upon  ;  tall,  and  fa>hio)U'(l  in  nalute's  ni.ist 
voluptuous  mould,  perfect  in  the  sxinmelry  of  e\ery  part, 
with  an  ease  and  heaul ,  of  movement  not  suLj'jjestive  of 
spiritual  ii;races,  like  Ame'lie's,  hut  of  terrestrial  wiicheries 
like  those  [^re.it  unmen  of  old  who  drew  (l(»wn  the  very 
gfxls  from  Olvmpus,  and  who  in  all  aL!,'es  ha\e  ineiii;<i  men 
to  the  nohii'st  deeds,  or  tempted  them  lo  ;he  ;j;realesl  crimes. 

She  was  beautiful  of  that  rare  ty])e  of  he.iut}'  which  is 
only  repro(kK:ed  once  or  twiie  in  .1  century  to  rcali/e 
the  di'eams  of  a  Titian  or  a  (lior^ioue.  Her  com- 
plexion was  clear  and  radiant,  as  of  a  descendant  of  the 
Sun  (iod.  Her  hri:;ht  hair,  if  its  golden  ripples  were 
shaken  out,  would  reach  to  her  knees.  Her  face  was 
worth}  (jf  immortalil}'  h\"  the  |)encil  of  a  Jitian.  Her 
dark  eyes  drew  with  a  ma_u^neti.sm  which  aili.uied  men  in 
S]:)ite  of  themsehes.  wJiithersoe\er  >he  would  lead  them. 
The)'  were  never  S(")  dangerous  as  win  n  in  appaient  repose, 
they  sheathed  their  fascination  for  a  moment,  and  sudden- 
ly shot  a  ha.ckward  ii^lance,  like  a  j'artiiiau  aiio^v,  from  un- 
der their  loniLj  evelashes,  that  left  a  wound  to  hi-  sighed 
over  for  many  a  day. 

'J'lie  spoiled  and  petted  child  of  the  bra\e.  careless 
Kenaud  d'.VN'esne  des  Aleloises.  of  an  ancient  family  in  the 
Nivernois,  AnL;eli([ue  p;rew  up  a  motherless  ^.^irl,  cle\er 
above  most  of  her  (ompanions,  conscious  of  superior 
charms,  alwa\s  admired  and  llattered,  and,  since  she  left 
the  Convent,  worshipjied  as  the  idol  of  the  fjay  gallants  of 
the  city,  and  the  despair  and  en\\-  of  her  own  sex.  She 
%vas  a  born  sovereign  of  men,  and  she  felt  it.  It  was  her 
divine  riiiht  to  be  iireferred.  She  trod  the  earth  with  daintv 
feet,  and  a  step  aspirim,^  as  that  of  the  fair  Louise  de  La 
Yaliere  when  she  (lanced  in  the  Royal  ballet  in  the  forest 
of  Lontainebleau  and  stok'  a  kini;'s  heart  by  the  Ikishes  of 
her  pretty  feet.  An^eliciue  had  been  indulLjed  by  her 
father  in  every  caprice,  and  in  the  ^a\-  wc^rld  inhaled  the 
incense  of  adulation  until  she  re_ti;arded  it  as  her  right,  and 
resented  passionately  when  it  was  withheld. 


m§m-i 


i; 


11 


h^ 


24 


T///':  r ////■:.  V  /roR. 


She  was  not  by  nature  had,  altIi()Ui;h  vain,  selfish  and 
aspirinj;.  Her  footstool  was  the  hearts  of  men,  and  u])()ii 
it  she  set  hard  her  l)eautiful  feet,  indifferent  to  the  anijuish 
caused  by  her  capricious  tyranny.  She  was  cold  and  calcu- 
ialinij  under  the  warm  jxissions  of  a  voluptuous  nature. 
Althou<;h  many  mi;;ht  believe  they  had  won  the  favor,  none 
felt  sure  tiiey  had  gained  the  love  of  this  fair  capricious 
girl. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


CONFIDKNCKS. 


ANr.F.MQTTK  took  the  arm  of  Amelie  in  her  old,  familiar 
school  i-irl  wav,  and  led  her  to  the  sunnv  corner  of  a  has- 
tion  where  lay  a  dismounted  catinon.  'I'he  green  slojje  of 
the  lontr  hill  side  of  Charlebourir  was  visible  through  an 
embrasure,  like  a  landscape  framed  in  massive  stone. 

'i'he  girls  sat  down  upon  the  old  gun.  Angc'licine  held 
Amelie  hy  both  hands,  as  if  hesitating  how  to  express 
.something  she  wished  to  say.  Still,  when  Angelique  did 
speak,  't  was  plain  to  Amc'lie  that  she  had  other  things  on 
her  mind  than  what  her  tongue  gave  loose  to. 

"  \ow  we  are  (juite  alone,  Amelie,"  said  she,  ''  we  can 
talk  as  we  used  to  do  in  our  school  days.  You  have  not 
been  in  the  city  during  the  whole  summer,  and  have  mis- 
sed all  its  gaieties  ?  " 

"  I  was  well  content  !  how  beautiful  the  countrv  looks 
from  here,"  replied  AnK'lie,  glancing  out  of  the  embrasure 
at  the  green  fields  ami  gorgeous  summer  woods  that  lay 
across  the  \alley  of  the  St.  Charles.  "  How  much  pleas- 
anter  to  be  in  it.  revelling  among  the  Howers  and  under 
the  trees!  I  like  to  touch  the  country  as  well  as  to  look 
at  it  from  a  distance,  as  you  do  in  (Quebec." 

"Well,  I  never  care  for  the  country  if  I  can  only  get 
enough  of  the  city.  (Quebec  was  never  so  gay  as  it  has 
been  this  year.  The  royal  Roussillon  and  the  freshly  ar- 
rived regiments  of  JJearn  and  I'unthieu,  have  turned  the 
heads  of  all  Quebec, — of  the  girls,  that  is.  Gallants  have 
been  plenty  as  bilberries  in  August.    And  you  may  be  sure  I 


CONFIDENCES. 


25 


ii 


got  my  share,  Amt'lic."     An_f,fclique  laui^hed  aloud  at  some 
secret  rcniinisccnccs  of  lier  sumincr  Ciimp;iii;ii. 

"  It  is  well  1  (lid  not  come  to  the  city,  Ani^eliciue,  to 
get  my  head  turned  like  the  lest  !  hut  now  that  I  am  here, 
suppose  I  should  mercifully  tr\'  to  heal  some  of  the  hearts 
you  have  broken  !  " 

"  I  hope  you  wont  try,  'I'hose  hiij^ht  eyes  (^f  yours 
would  heal  too  effectually  the  wounds  mad'^  1)V  mine,  and 
that  is  not  what  I  desire,"  replied  An;j;Jli(iue,  lau_i;hing. 

"  No  I  then  your  heart  is  more  cruel  than  your  eyes. 
But,  tell  me,  who  have  been  your  \-ictiins  this  year,  Ange- 
lique?  " 

"  Well,  to  be  frank,  Amelie,  I  ha\e  tried  'uy  fascinations 
upon  the  king's  officers  very  impartially,  an  1  with  fair  suc- 
cess. There  have  been  three  duels,  two  deaths,  and  one 
Cai)tain  of  the  royal  Roussillon  turned  conlelier  for  my 
sake.      Is  that  not  a  fair  return,  for  mv  labor?" 

"  V'ou  are  sliocl-;inL;'  as  e\'er,  .\ngelic|ue  I  \  do  not  be- 
lieve you  feel  pioud  of  such  trium|ihs,"  exclaimed  Amelie. 

"Proud,  no!  I  am  not  proud  of  cou'iuering  men. 
That  is  eas\- !  Ws  triumphs  are  over  the  woiuen  !  \\\\(\.  the 
way  to  triumph  o\er  them  is  to  subdue  the  men.  Vou 
know  my  old  ri\al  at  school,  the  haughty  l''rancoise  de 
Lantagnac  ;  I  owed  her  a  grudge,  and  she  his  put  on  the 
black  veil  for  life,  instead  of  the  white  one  and  oi'ange 
blossoms  for  a  day  !  1  only  meant  tf>  frighten  her,  how- 
ever, when  I  stole  her  lo\er,  but  she  took  it  to  heart  and 
went  into  the  Convent.  It  w.is  tlangerous  for  her  to  chal- 
lenge Angeliciue  des  Meloises  to  test  the  tidelity  of  her  af- 
fianced, Juhen  de  St.  Crcjix."' 

Amelie  rose  up  in  honest  indignation.  Her  cheek 
burning  like  a  coal  of  tire.  "  I  know  vour  wild  talk  of  old, 
Angelicpie,  but  1  will  not  believe  }'ou  are  so  wickeil  as  to 
make  deadly  si:)ort  of  our  holiest  affections." 

"  Ah,  if  vou  knew  men  as  I  do,  .Vmelie,  vou  would 
think  it  no  sin  to  punish  them  for  their  perjuries  ;  but  you 
are  a  nun  in  experience,  \\\(\  never  woke  out  of  a  girl's 
dream  of  love,  as  I  ha\e  done."  Angelique  seemed  to 
make  this  remark  in  a  hard  monotone  as  much  to  herself 
as  to  her  comjDanion. 

"  No,  I  don't  know  men,"  replied  /\mt'lie,  "  but  I 
think  a  good  noble  man  is  after  God  the  worthiest  object 
of  a  woman's  devotion.     We  were  better  dead  tiian  finding 


a6 


THE  CHI  EM  IT  OR. 


amusement  in  the  pain  of  those  wlio  love  us  ;  pray  what 
became  of  juliendc  St.  Croix  after  you  broke  up  his  iii- 
teiuled  marriai^e  with  poor  Franoiyse." 

"()!  him  I  threw  to  the  fisiies !  what  did  I  care  for 
him  ?  It  was  mainly  to  punish  I'Vanc^joise'  presumption  that 
1  showed  my  power  and  made  him  figlu  that  desperate 
duel  wi'.h  Captain  LeFranc." 

"  ( ),  AiiL;eli(|ue,  how  could  you  be  so  unutterably  wicked  ?" 
"  Wicked  ?  It  was  not  my  fault,  you  know,  that  he  was 
killed.  He  was  my  champion  and  oui;ht  to  have  come 
off  victor.  I  wore  a  black  ribbon  for  him  a  full  half  year, 
and  had  the  credit  of  beiuijj  de\(,v'*d  to  his  memory  ;  1  had 
my  triumph  in  that  if  in   nothinij^  else. 


•li 


I   will 


our  triumpli  !  tor  sliame,  Aui^eluiue.  1  wUl  not 
listen  to  you  ;  you  profane  the  very  name  of  love  by  utter- 
in<(  such  sentiments.  The  <^ift  of  so  much  beauty  was  for 
bk•ssinl,^  not  for  pain.  St.  Mary  pray  for  you,  Anijjelique, 
you  need  her  prayers  !  "     Amelie  rose  up  suddenly. 

"Nay,  do  not  <j;et  ani;ry  and  ijo  olf  that  way,  .Xmelie," 
ejaculated  AuLjclique.  "  I  will  do  penance  for  my  tri- 
umphs 1)\-  relating  my  defeats,  and  my  special  failure  of 
all,  whu;h  I  know  you  will  rejoice  to  hear." 

"  1,  Anneiicjue!  What  have  your  triumphs  or  failures 
to  do  with  me  ?  No,  I  care  not  to  hear."  .Vngelique  held 
her  half  forcibly  by  the  scarf. 

"  IJut  vou  will  care  when  I  tell  vou  that  I  met  an  old 
and  valu  'd  friend  of  yours  last  night  at  the  Castle.  The 
new  Aide-de-Camp  of  the  (jo\'ernor,  Colonel  Philibert.  I 
think  I  h  ive  heard  you  speak  of  Tierre  Philibert  in  the 
Con\ent,  Amelie  ?  " 

Amelie  felt  the  net  thrown  over  her  by  the  skilful  Re- 
tiaria.  She  stood  stock  still  in  miUe  surorise,  with  averted 
eye  and  dee]3l\"  blushing  cheek,  lighting  desperately  with 
the  confusion  she  feaied  to  let  Ange'lique  detect.  Put  that 
keen  sighted  girl  saw  too  clearly — she  had  caught  her  fast 
as  a  bird  is  caught  by  the  fowler. 

"  Vt's,  1  met  with  a  double  defeat  last  night,"  continued 
Ange'lique. 

"  Indeed  !  pray  from  whom  ?  "  Amt'lie's  curiosity  though 
not  usually  a  troublesome  quality,  was  by  this  time  fairly 
roused. 

Angel iciue  saw  her  drift,  and  played  with  her  anxiety 
for  a  few  moments. 


COXF/DF.ATES. 


27 


**  ^^y  first  rebuft'  was  fioin  that  _:;ciulciiianly  jihilosopher 
from  Swfdcn.  a  ijroal  friend  of  the  (iovcrnor,  voii  know. 
But  alas,  I  niiLjhl  as  well  have  tried  to  fascinate  an  iceherj^  ! 
His  talk  was  all  of  the  llowers  of  the  tield.  He  has  not 
gallantry  to  ^ive   you  a  rose  before  he    has    dissected  it  to 


th 


e    verv   calvx. 


I  do  not  believe  that  he  knew  after 
half  an  hour's  conversation  with  nu',  whether  1  was  man  or 
woman.     That  was  defeat  ninnber  one." 


"  And  what  was  number  two  .'' 


imeiie  was  now  tiior- 


th 


oughly  interested  in  An_L:;eli(|ue's  {gossip. 

"I  left  the  dry  unappreciative  philosoi^her  and  devoted 
myself  to  charm  the  handsome  Colonel  I'hilibert.  lie 
was  all  wit  and  courtesv.      IJut  mv   failure   was  even    njore 


sitrnal  with  him  than  with  the  cold  Swedi 


Ame'lie's  eyes  gave  a  sparkle  of  joy,  which  did  not  es- 
cape Angelicjue,  but  she  pretended  not  to  see  it.  "How 
was  that?  Tell  me,  prav,  how  vou  failed  with  Colonel  Phil- 


ibert 


>  •' 


Mv  cause    of  failure   would   not  be   a   lesson  for  v( 


HI, 


Amelie.  Listen  ;  I  got  a  speedy  introduction  to  Colonel 
Philibert,  who  1  confess  is  one  of  the  handsomest  men  I 
ever  saw.      1  was  bent  on  atlractiuii  him." 


OU! 


u  J, 
rht 


or  shame.  Angel icpie 
so  unwomanlv  ? ' 


H 


ovv  could    vou   confess  to 


'I'here  was  a  warmth  in  Amc'lie's 
tone  that  was  less  noticed  by  herself  than  by  her  compan- 
ion. 

"Well,  it  is  my  way  of  conquering  the  King's  army.  T 
shot  m\-  whole  ([ui\er  of  arrows  at  Colonel  i'hilibert,  but 
to  my  chagrin  hit  not  a  \ilal  ])art  !    He    parried    every  one 


aiK 


returned   them    broken   ;il   mv 


feet. 


Hi 


neisislent 


ciuestioning  about  yourself,  as  soon  as  he  (lisco\eied  we  had 
nanions  in    the    Coiu'ent,  (uiite  foiled  me. 


K'en  scliool  com 


1 
H 


e  w 


as  full  of  inteiest  about  \'ou,  and  all   that    concerned 


you,  but  cared  not  a  fig  about  me  !  " 

"What  could  Colonel  I'hilibert  ha\'e  to  ask  you  about 
me  ?"  Amelie  unconsciously  drew  closer  to  her  compan- 
ion and  even  clasped  her  arm  by  an  involuntary  movement 
which  did  not  escaj^e  her  friend, 

"  W'hv  he   asked  evervthinij:  a  jrentleman  could    with 


proper  respect  ask  about  a  lady." 
"And  what  did  you  sa\- ?  " 
"  O,  not  half  enouLrh  to  coiitent   hi 


m. 


I  confess  I  felt 


piqued  that  he  only  looked  upon  nie  as  a  sort  of  i'ylhoness 


98 


THE  cirrEX  iroR. 


V 


to  sol 


vo  emtrm 


as   al)f)iit  }ou.      I  had  a  Ljriin   satisfaction  in 


leavinj^  ills  can  ).ity  irritated,  I)  ii  ir)i  siUsfiL-l.      I  praised 
your  bcar.ty,  {goodness  and  tdcverncss  up  to  the  skies,  how- 


c\er.      1  was  not  untrue  to  old  fi"i(.'iKhhii).  Anielie  ! 


An- 


geli(|ue  kissed  lier  friend  on  the  ciieek,  wiio  silently  allow- 
ed what  in  her  indiirnalion  a  few  mtjuienls  a'^o  she  would 
have  refused. 

*'  Hut  what  said  Colonel    Philibert  of  himself  ?     Never 
mind  about  me." 


C),  impatient  that  you  are  !     He  said  nothinuj  of  hi 


m- 


self.      He   was   absorbed  in  mv  stories  concerninir  vou.     I 


t-i  , 


told  him  as  pretty  a  fable  as  La  I'onlaine  related  of  the 
Avarc  (jiii  tiiuiit  f^i'rJu  soil  trhv  !  I  said  you  were  a  beau- 
tiful Chatelaine  besie;red  bv  an  armv  of  lo\'ers,  but  the 
kni<;ht  errant  Fortunaius  had  alone  won  your  favor,  and 
would  re(V'i\'e  your  hand!  The  brave  Colonel!  I  could 
see  he  winced  at  this.      His  steel  cuirass  was  not   invulner- 


able.     I  drew  blood, 


w 


IS  more 


th 


m  vou    would  liave 


dared  to  do  Amelie  !  lUit  I  discovered  the  truth  hidden 
in  his  heart.  He  is  in  lo\e  with  ycni,  Amelie  IJe  Repent- 
igny  I  " 

"  i\rad  <j;irl  !  How  could  \-ou  ?  How  daie  you  speak  so 
of  me?     \Vhat  must  Colonel  I'hilibert  think  ? '' 

"■'IMiink?  He  thinks  \()U  must  loe  the  most  perfect  of 
your  sex  !  Why,  his  mind  was  made  uj)  about  nou,  Ame- 
lie before  he  said  a  woi-d  to  me.  Indeed,  he  oidy  just 
wanted  to  en)()\-  the  supernal  pleasure  of  hearing;  me  sin;^ 
the  praises  of  Amelie  He  Repentr^ny  to  the  tune  com- 
posed by  himself." 

"  Which  you  seem  to  have  done,  Anj;elique  !  " 

"  As  music;illy  as  Aunt  Me're  St.  IJoii^ia.  when  sini^in;^ 
vespers  in  the    Ursulines,"   was   An:j;e'li(iue's  llippant  rejjly. 

Amelie  knew  how  useless  it  wis  to  expostulate.  She 
swallowed  her  ming'led  i^leasure  and  \e.\alion  salt  with  teai's 
she  could  not  hel]).  She  ch.anj^jed  the  subject  by  a  vio- 
lent wrench,  and  asked  Angelicjue  when  she  had  last  seen 
Le  Gardein-. 

"At  the  Indendanl's  Levee  the  other  day.  How  like 
you  he  is  too,  only  less  amiable  !  " 

Aui^elique  did  not  respond  readily  to  her  friend's  ques- 
tion about  her  brother. 

"  Less  amiable  ?  that  is  not  like  my  brother.  WMiy  do 
you  think  him  less  amiable  than  me  ? " 


COXFmF.XCES. 


29 


"  Horause  he  jjot  aiif^ry  with  ine  at  the  ball  n;iven  in 
honot  of  thu  arrival  of  tin.;  IntciKlaiit,  and  I  have  not  been 
able  yet  to  restore  him  to  perfect  .i;oo(l  humor  with  me 
since." 

"  O,  then  Le  (iardeur  completes  the  trio  of  those  who 
are  proof  aj^ainst  your  fascinaliui'.s  ?  "  Amelie  was  secret- 
ly \(vA(.\  to  hear  of  the  displeasure  of  Le  Gardeur  with  An- 
gel ique." 

"  Not  at  all,  I  hope,  Amelie.  I  don't  jilace  f^e  Oardeur 
in  the  same  cateirorv  witli  mv  other  admirers,  but  he 
got  olTended  because  I  seemed  to  neglect  him  a  little  to 
cultivate  tliis  gay  new  Intendant.      Do  you  know  him?" 

"  No  !  nor  wish  to  !  I  have  heard  nuich  said  to  his 
disadvantage.  The  (lhe\alier  La  Corne  St.  Luc  has  o|)en- 
ly  expressed  his  dislike  of  the  Litendant  for  something 
that  happened  in  Acadia." 

"  C),  the  Chevalier  La  Corne  is  always  so  decided  in  his 
likes  and  dislikes — one  must  either  be  very  good  or  very 
bad  to  satisfy  him,"  replied  Angelic[ue  with  a  scornful  pout 
of  her  lijDS. 

"  Don't  speak  ill  of  my  god-father,  Angel  ique  ;  better 
Idc  profane  f.Mi  any  other  toi)ic  ;  you  know  n:y  ideal  of  manly 
virtues  is  the  Chevalier  La  Corne,"  replied  Ame'lie. 

"  Well,  I  won't  pull  down  your  idol  then  !  1  respect 
the  brave  old  soldier,  too  ;  but  could  wish  him  with  the 
armv  in  Flanders  !  " 

"Thousands  of  estimable  ]3Cople  augur  ill  from  the  ac- 
cession of  tlie  Intendant  Higot  in  new  France,  besides  the 
Chevalier  La  Corne,"  Amelie  said  after  a  pause.  She  dis- 
liked censuring  even  the  Intendant. 

"Yes,"  replied  Angelique,  "  the  Honui'tcs  ^cns  do,  who 
think  themselves  bound  to  oppose  the  Intendant,  be- 
cause he  uses  the  roval  authorits'  in  a  reiral  wav.  and  makes 
every  one,  high  and  low,  do  their  devoir  to  Church  and 
State." 

"  While  he  does  his  dcvo'n*  to  none  !  But  I  am  no  pol- 
itician, Angelique.  J  kit  when  so  many  good  people  call 
the  Intendant  a  bad  nian,  it  behoves  one  to  be  circum- 
spect in  '  cultivating  him,'  as  you  call  it." 

"  Well  he  is  rich  enough  to  pay  for  all  the  broken 
pots  !  They  say  he  amassed  untold  wealth  in  Acadia, 
Amelie  !" 

"And  lost  the  Province  for  the  king  !  "  retorted  Ame- 


30 


THE  CHI  EN  jrOR. 


fS  I' 


Pi 


He  with  all  the  asperity  her  pentle  but  i)atriotic  spirit  was 
capable  of.    "Some  say  he  sold  ijie  country." 

"I  (lou'l  care!"  replied  the  reckU'ss  beaufv  ;  **  he  is 
like  Joseph  in  l'-;^ypl,  next  to  I'haroah  in  authority,  lie  can 
shoe  his  horses  with  j^old  !  I  wish  he  would  shoe  me  with 
golden  slippers — I  would  wear  tlu-ni,  Ameiie  !  " 

AnL^elicjue  stamped  her  dainty  foot  upon  the  f^round,  as 
if  in  fancy  she  already  had  ihent  on. 

"It  is  shocking  if  you  mean  it !"  remarked  Ameiie 
pityingly,  for  she  felt  Angeli(|ue  was  speaking  her  genuine 
thoughts.  '*  Hut  is  it  true  that  the  Intendant  is  really 
as  dissolute  as  rumor  savs  .'^  " 

"  1  don't  care  if  it  be  true,  he  is  noble  gallant,  jiolitc, 
rich,  and  all-powerful  at  Courl.  Me  is  reported  to  be  prime 
favorite  of  the  Mar([uise  de  Pompadour.  What  more  do  I 
want?"  replied  Angelicpie  warmly. 

Ameiie  knew  enough  by  report  of  the  French  Count  to 
cause  her  to  shrink  inslinciivel}'  as  from  a  repulsive  insect, 
at  the  name  of  the  mistress  of  Louis  XV.  She  trembled 
at  the  thought  of  Angelique's  infatuation,  or  perversity  in 
suffering  herself  to  be  attracted  by  the  glitter  of  the  vices 
of  the  roval  Intendant. 

"  Angelic|ue  !  "  exclaimed  she,  "  I  have  heard  things  of 
the  Intendant,  that  would  make  me  tremble  for  you,  were 
you  in  earnest." 

"  Hut  I  am  in  earnest  !  I  mean  to  win  and  wear  the  In- 
tendant of  New  l'"rance,  to  show  my  superiority  over  the 
whole  be\y  of  beauties  compet'ngfor  his  hand.  There 
is  not  a  girl  in  (Quebec  but  would  run  away  with  him  to- 
morrow." 

"  Fie,  Angelique  !  such  a  libel  upon  our  sex  !  You  know 
better.     15ut  you  caimot  hn-e  him  ?  '' 

"Love  him?  No!"  Angeiique  repeated  the  denial 
scornfully.  "Love  him  !  I  never  thought  of  love  and  him 
togetiier  !  He  is  not  handsome,  like  your  brother,  Le 
Gardeur,  who  is  my  beau  ideal  of  a  man  I  could  love  ; 
nor  has  he  the  intellect  and  nobility  of  Colonel  Fhilibert,  who 
is  my  model  of  a  heroic  man.  I  could  love  such  men  as 
them.  Hut  my  ambition  would  not  be  content  with  less 
than  a  (iovernor  or  Roval  Intendant  in  New  France.  In 
old  France,  I  would  not  put  up  with  less  than  the  king 
himself !  " 

Angelique  laughed  at  her  own  extravagance,  but  she 


cox/'//i/':.vcEs. 


3« 


believed  in  it  all  the  same.  Ainelio,  tlioui^h  shocked  at  her 
wildness,  could  not   help  smiling  at  her  folly. 

"  Have  you  doiK-  ravin;^?"  said  she  ;  "  1  have  no  riji^ht 
to  {HK'stion  your  si-leclion  of  a  lo\er  or  doubt  your  i>o\ver, 
Ani;t'li(|ue.  Hut  are  you  sure  there  exists  no  insurmount- 
able obstacle  to  oppose  these  hij^ii  asjiiralions  .-*  It  is  whis- 
pered that  the  rntend  int  has  a  wife,  whom  he  keeps  in  the 
secliision  of  neaiunanoir.      Is  that  true  ?  '' 

'I'he  words  burnt  like  the.  An,i;elique's  eyes  Hashed 
out  dafj2;crs.  She  ck-nched  her  delicate  hands  until  her 
niiils  drew  blood  from  her  velvet  palms.  Her  frame  cjuiv- 
ered  with  suppressed  passion.  She  i^rasj^ed  her  companion 
fiercely  by  the  arm.  exclaiming  :  '*  \'ou  lia\e  hit  the  secret 
now,  Amelie  !  It  was  to  speak  of  that  I  souijht  you  out 
this  morninji;,  for  I  know  you  are  wise,  discreet,  and 
every  way  better  than  I.  It  i.s  all  true  wliat  I  have  said 
and  more  too,  Amelie.  Listen!  The  Intend  int  has  made 
love  to  me  with  pointed  [gallantry  that  could  h;i\e  no  other 
meaninj;  but  that  he  honorably  souj.;ht  my  hand.  He  has 
made  me  talked  of,  and  hated  by  my  own  sex,  who  envied  his 
preference  of  me.  I  was  liviiiL:;  in  the  most  ujor^eous  of  fool's 
paradises,  when  a  bird  l)rout;lu  to  my  ear  the  astoundin<^ 
news,  that  a  woman,  beautiful  as  Diana,  had  been  found  in 
the  forest  of  Beaumanoir,  by  some  Hurons  of  Lorette,  who 
were  out  huntinj;  witli  the  Intenchmt.  She  was  acconi- 
panied  by  a  few  Indians  of  a  strani;e  tribe,  the  Aben- 
acjuais  oi  Acadia.  The  wouKv.i  was  utterly  exhausted  by 
fatigue,  and  lay  asleep  on  a  couch  of  dry  lea\es  under  a 
tree,  when  the  astonished  Hurons  led  the  Intendant  to  the 
spot  where  she  lay. 

"  I)>)n't  interrupt  me,  Amelie,  I  see  you  are  amazed, 
but  let  me  ^o  on  ?  "  She  held  the  hands  of  her  companion 
iirndy  in  her  lap  as  she  proceeded  : — 

"  riie  Intendant  was  startled  out  of  all  composure  at 
the  apparition  of  the  sleeping  lady.  He  spoke  eagerly  to 
the  Abenaquais  in  their  own  tongue  which  was  unintelligi- 
ble to  the  Hurons.  When  he  had  listened  to  a  few  words 
of  their  explanation,  he  ran  hastily  to  the  lady,  kissed 
her,  called  her  by  name,  'Caroline  !'  She  woke  up  sudden- 
ly, and,  recognizing  the  Intendant,  embraced  him,  crying 
'  FranCj'ois  !     Fran(;ois  !  '  and  fainted  in  his  arms. 

"  'J'he  Chevalier  was  profoundly  agitated,  blessing  and 
banning  in  the  same  breath,  the  fortune  that  had  led  her 


r^wi 


m 


ti# 


32 


jy/y^  cinF.y  d'or. 


to  him.  He  j^avo  her  wine,  restored  lier  to  consciousness, 
talked  with  hc;i-  loiiuj  .md  sometimes  angrily  ;  but  to  no 
avail,  for  the  woman  in  accents  of  (k'S|)air,  exclaimed  in 
French,  which  the  Ilurons  understood,  that  the  fntendant 
niigiu  kill  and  bury  her  there,  but  she  wouUl  never,  never 
return  home  any  more." 

Angel icjue  scarcely  took  breath  as  she  continued  her 
eager  recital. 

"'i'he  Intendant,  overpowered,  either  bv  love  of  her  or 
fear  of  her,  ceased  his  remonstrances.  He  gave  some  pieces 
of  gold  to  the  Abenaquais,  and  disiuissed  them.  'I'he 
strange  Indians  kissed  her  on  botii  hands  as  they  would  a 
queen,  and  with  many  adieus  vanished  into  the  forest. 
The  ladv,  attended  by  Bigot,  remained  seated  under  the 
tree  till  ninhtfall  when  he  conducted  her  secretlv  to  the 
Chj'iteau,  where  she  still  remains  in  perfect  seclusion  in  a 
secret  chamber  they  say,  and  has  been  seen  by  none  save 
one  or  two  of  the  Intendant's  most  intimate  companions." 

"  Heavens  !  what  a  tale  of  romance  !  How  learned 
you  all  this  Angelique?"  exclaimed  Ame'lie,  who  had 
listened  with  breathless  attention  to  the  narrative. 

"  Oh,  |5artly  from  a  hint  from  a  Huron  girl,  and  the  rest 
from  the  Intendant's  Secretary.  Men  cannot  keep  secrets 
that  women  are  interested  in  knowing  !  I  could  make  De 
l^ean  talk  the  Intendant's  head  off  his  should jrs,  if  I  had 
him  an  hour  in  my  confessional.  JUit  all  my  ingenuity  could 
not  ('Xtracl  from  him  what  he  did  not  know.  Who  that 
mysterious  lady  is,  her  name,  and  faiuily  ?  " 

"  C'ould  the  Huron  hunters  give  no  guess .'' "  asked 
Amelie  thoroughly  interested  in  Ange'lique's  story. 

"  No.  They  learned  by  signs,  h(jwev(,'r,  froiu  the  Aben- 
aquais, that  she  was  a  lady  of  noble  family  in  Acadia, 
wiiich  had  mingled  its  patrician  blood  with  that  of  the  na- 
tive chiefs  and  possessors  of  the  soil.  Tlie  Abenaquais 
were  chary  of  their  information,  however,  they  would  only 
say  she  was  a  great  white  lady  and  as  good  as  any  saint  in 
the  calendar." 

"  I  would  give  five  years  of  my  life  to  know  who  and 
what  that  woman  is  !  "  Angelique  added,  as  she  leaned  over 
the  parapet  ga/ing  intently  at  the  great  forest  that  lay 
bev<-)nd  Charlebourir,  in  which  was  concealed  the  Chateau 
of  IJeaumanoir." 

"  It  is  a  strange  mystery.     But  I  would  not  seek  to  un- 


her 


A1")cn- 
c;ulia, 
lie  na- 
^quais 
only 
lint  ill 

and 

over 

IL  lay 

[\teau 

loun- 


CONFIDEXCES. 


ravel  it,  Angel ique,"  remarked  Amc'lie,  *'  I  feci  there  is  sin 
in  it.  Do  not  touch  it  !  It  will  only  bring  mischief  upon 
you  if  you  do  !  " 

"  ^i^scIlief  !  So  be  it  !  Rut  I  will  know  the  worst ! 
The  l?itendant  is  deceiving  me!  Woe  be  to  Iiini  and  her 
if  I  am  to  be  their  intended  victim  !  Will  you  not  assist 
nie,  Amelie,  to  discover  the  truth  of  tliis  secret?" 

"1?  h(i\v  can  I?  I  ]iity  you  Angeiique,  but  it  were 
better  to  lea\'e  this  Intendant  to  his  own  devices." 

"  ^'ou  can  very  easily  help  me  if  you  will.  Le  Gardeur 
must  know  this  secret.  He  must  ha\e  seen  the  woman — but 
he  is  angry  with  me,  for — for — slighting  him — as  he  thinks 
— but  he  was  wrong.  I  coukl  not  avow  to  him  mv  iealousv 
in  this  matter.  He  told  ine  just  enough  to  madden  me, 
and  anjirilv  refused  to  tell  the  rest  when  he  saw  me  so  in- 
fatuated — he  called  it,  over  other  people's  love  affairs.  Oh, 
Amelie,  Le  (lardeur  will  tell  vou  all  if  vou  ask   him  !  " 

"And  I  rej)eat  it  to  you,  Angelique,  1  cannot  question 
Le  Gardeur  on  such  a  hateful  toi)ic.  At  any  rate  I  need 
time  to  rellect  and  will  pray  to  be  guided  right.  " 

"Oh,  pray  not  at  all  !  If  nou  pray  you  will  never  aid 
me  !  1  know  you  will  say  tlie  <:\\(\.  is  wicked  and  the  means 
dishonorable.  JJut  fmd  out  1  will — and  speedily!  It  will 
only  be  the  price  of  another  dance  with  the  Chevalier  de 
Pean,  todiscover  all  I  want.  Wiiat  fools  men  are  when  they 
believe  we  love  them  for  their  sakes,  and  not  for  our  own  !  " 

Amelie  pitying  the  wild  humors,  as  she  regarded  them, 
of  her  old  school  com])anion — took  her  arm  to  w.ilk  to  and 
fro  in  the  bastion — but  was  not  sorry  to  see  her  Aunt  and 
the  Bishop  and  I^'ather  I)e  iJerey  approaching. 

"  Quick,"  said  she  to  Angelic[ue,  "  smootli  your  hair  and 
compose  your  looks.  Here  come  my  Aiuit  and  the  Bishop 
— Father  i)e  IJerev  too  !  Sad  thoughts  are  ever  banished 
where  he  comes,  although  1  dori't  admire  quite  so  much 
gayety  in  a  priest. " 

Angeli(]ue  prepared  at  once  to  meet  them  ;  and  with 
her  wonderful  power  of  adaptation  transformed  herself  in 
a  moment  into  a  merry  creature  all  light  and  gayety.  She 
saluted  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  the  reverend  Bishop  in  the 
frankest  manner — and  at  once  accepted  an  interchange  of 
wit  aufl  kuighter  with  l-'atlu-r  De  Berey.  Her  \-oire.  so  clear 
and  silver\',would  have  put  the  wisdom  of  Solomon  at  fault  to 
discover  one  trace  of  care  on  the  mind  of  this  beautiful  girl. 


:    !  I    -I 


34 


THE  cniEN  D'OR. 


"She  coulfl  not  remain  lonj^^  however,  in  the  Church's 
company,''  she  said,  "  sht-  h;rl  her  mornini^  calls  to  finish." 
She  kissed  liie  eiieck  of  Amelia  and  the  iiand  of  the  Lady 
DeTilly,  and  with  .i  c<H|uettish  courtesy  to  the  gentlemen, 
leaped  nimhiy  into  her  caleche,  whirled  round  her  spirited 
horses  like  a  practiced  charioteer,  and  drove  with  rapid 
pace  down  the  crowded  street  of  St,  John,  the  observed 
of  all  obs.a'vers,  the  admiration  of  the  men,  and  the 
envy  of  the  women  as  she  flashed  by, 

Amelie  and  the  Lady  De  Tilly  havint;  seen  a  plenteous 
meal  distributed  amoni;  their  people,  proceedetl  to  their 
city  home— their  seijjneurial  residence,  when  they  chose  to 
live  in  the  capital. 


i 


CHAl'TKR    V. 


Tiir,    rrix(:F<AN'T  notary. 


i        f 
( 


il 


Masti'.r  Jean  Li-.-'VocFn:!-;,  the  sturdy  ferryman's  pati- 
ence li.id  been  se\'erely  liicd  for  a  few  (\\^^^^^  back,  passing 
the  tro(jps  of  habitans  o\er  the  St.  Charles  to  the  city  of 
Quebec.  Being  on  the  Is  ing's  <7'/7vv  they  claimed  the  privi- 
lege of  all  |)ersons  in  the  l<.o\al  ser\'ice.  They  travelled 
toll-fri-e.  and  paid  Jean  with  a  nod  or  a  jest  in  place  of 
the  small  coin  which  that  worth)'  used  to  exact  on  ordinary 
occasions. 

This  morning  had  begun  auspiciously  for  Jean's  tem- 
per, howe\er.  A  king's  officer  on  a  grey  charger,  had  just 
crossed  the  ferry;  and  without  claiming  the  exemption  from 
toll  which  was  the  right  of  all  wearing  the  king's  uniform, 
the  ofhcer  had  paid  Jem  more  than  his  fee  in  solid  coin, 
and  rode  on  his  way  after  a  few  kind  words  to  the  ferry- 
man and  a  i:)olitc  salute  to  his  wife  IJabet,  who  stood  cour- 
tesying  at  the  door  of  their  cottage. 

"A  noble  gentleman  that,  and  a  real  one  !"  exclaimed 
Jean  to  his  buxom  pretty  wife,  "and  as  generous  as  a 
[jiince  !  See  what  he  has  given  me.''  Jean  fli[)ped  up  a 
piece  of  silver  admiringly  and  then  threw  it  into  the  apron 
of  Haliet  which  she  sjiread  out  to  catch  it, 

Iiibet  rubbed  llic  sih'er  piece  caressingly  between  her 
hngers  and  upon  her  cheek.     "  It  is  easy  to  see  ihat  hand- 


THE  ITINERANT  NOTARY. 


35 


some  officer  i,,  from  the  Castle,"  said  I>abet,  *'  and  not  from 


Item- 
just 
from 
prm, 
:oin, 
;rry- 
oiir- 

jned 
a 

lip  a 
|>ron 

her 
lind- 


the  Palace — and  so  nice    lookinijj   he   is,    too,  with    sue 


h  a 


sparkle  in  his  eye  and  a  picas  int  smile  on  his  mouth.     He 
is  as  sj^ood  as  he  looks  or  I  am  no  judijjc  of  mei 


And    you   are   an   excellent    judi^e  of  men,    I    k 


now. 


Babet,"  he  replied,  "or  you  would   never  ha\e  taken  me 
Jean  chuckled  richly  over  his  own  wit,  which  IJahel  nodded 


livel 


y  api)ro\al  to. 


\ 


es. 


I   1 


<now 


a   hawk  from    a   hand- 


saw, "  replied  iJabet,  '*  and  a  Woman  who  is  as  wise  as  that 
will  never  mistake  a  sjcntlem  111,  Je.in  !  1  hive  not  seen  a 
handsonier  officer  than  that  in  sewn  years  !  " 

"lie  is  a  ])retty  fellow  enough,  1  dare  say,  liabet,  who 
can  he  be  .''  He  rides  like  a  Field  Marshal  too,  and  that 
grey  horse  has  L;in_i;;t.'r  in  his  heels  !  "  remarked  ](tAU,  as  the 
officer  was  riding  at  a  rapid  gallop  up  tlie  long  white  road 
of  Charlebourg.  '*  He  is  going  to  IJeaumaiioir  belike  to  see 
the  Royal  Intendant,  who  has  not  returned  yet  from  his 
hunting  party." 

'•  Whither  they  went  three  divs  ago,  to  enjoy  them- 
selves in  the  chase  and  dri;k  themsehes  blind  in  the 
chateau,  while  e\ery  body  I'lse  is  summoned  to  the  city  to 
work  upon  the  wills  !  "  re])lied  Dibet.  scornfully.  "I'll  be 
bound  that  officer  has  gone  to  order  the  gav  gallants  of 
the  I''riponne  back  to  the  city  to  take  their  share  of  work 
with  honest  people." 

■  Ah  !  the  I-'riponne  !  I'he  l*"riponne  I  "  ejaculated  Jean. 
"The  foul  fiend  fiy  away  with  the  I'^riponne  !  Mv  ferry 
boat  is  laden  everyday  with  the  curses  of  the  hahitans  re- 
turning from  the  Friponne,  where  they  cheat  worse  than  a 
l]as(|ue  |)ed(ller,  and  without  a  grain  of  his  politeness  !  " 

'Fhe  Friponne,  as  it  was  styled  in  popular  parlance  was 
the  immense  magazine  established  l)\-  the  (irand  Com- 
pany  of  traders  in  New  France.  It  chdmed  a  monopoly 
in  the  ])urchase  and  sale  of  all  imports  and  e\j)orts  in  the 
colony.  Its  jirivileges  were  based  upon  rowil  ordinances 
and  decrees  of  the  Intendant  and  its  rights  enforced  in  the 
most  arbitrary  manner — and  to  the  prejudice  of  e'very  other 
mercantile  interest  in  the  colony.  As  a  natural  conse- 
quence it  was  cordially  hated,  and  richly  deserved  the 
maledictions  which  generally  accom|:)anied  the  mention  of 
the  Friponne — the  swindle — a  rough  and  ready  epithet 
which  sufficiently  indicated  the  feeling  of  the  people  whom 
it  at  once  cheated  and  oppressed. 


1^1 


Hi 


[i 


36 


T//F.  ClflEIV  nOR. 


;rroi;rani,  or  linsev-woolsev — whetlicr  at  church 


"  They  say,  Te;in," — continued  TJabct,  her  mind  running; 
in  a  \"ery  ]3rac:tical  and  womanly  \va\'  ujDon  the  price  of 
commoclities,  and  ij;ood  lxirij;ains — "  they  say,  Jean,  that  the 
liour^eois  J'hiUbert  will  not  j;i\e  in  like  the  other  mer- 
chants. He  sets  the  Intendant  at  defiance  and  continues 
to  buv  and  sell  in  his  own  comptoir  as  he  has  always  done 
in  spile  of  the  l""riponne." 

"  \es,  Ijahet  !  that  is  what  they  say.  P.ut  I  would 
rather  he  stood  in  his  own  shoes,  than  I  in  them  if  he  is 
to  ll^ht  this  Inlendaiv  —who  is  a  Tartar  they  sa\-.'' 

*■  I'shaw,  Jean  !  xdu  have  less  courage  than  a  woman. 
All  the  women  are  on  the  side  of  the<;()0(l  IJourt^eois  !  He 
is  an  honest  merchant — sells  cheap  and  cheats  nobody." 
I'abet  looked  down  very  complacently  upon  her  newirown, 
whit-h  had  been  ])urchascd  at  a  <j;reat  bar;j;ain  at  the  Mai;a- 
zine  of  the  l>our<;e()is.  She  felt  r.ither  the  more  inclined  to 
take  this  view  of  the  ([ueslion  inasmuch  as  Jean  had 
grumbled,  just  a  little — he  would  not  do  more — at  his  wife's 
\anity  in  buxinjj;  a  i^ay  dress  of  l'"rench  fabric,  like  a  city 
Dame — while  all  the  women  of  the  parish  were  wearing 
h()mes])un, 
or  market. 

Jean  had  not  the  heart  to  sav  another  word  to  l^al^ct 
about  the  French  j^own.  In  truth  he  tlK)ULi;ht  she  looked 
verv  prettv  in  it,  better  than  in  iiro^ram  or  in  linsev wool- 
sey,  although  at  double  tlie  cost.  He  onl}-  winked  know- 
inglv  at  IJabet,  and  went  on  to  speakinj;' of  the  llour«;eois. 

*''I"hev  sav  the  kin^  has  lonii  hands,  but  this  Intendant 
lias  claws  UxiLier  than  Satan.  There  will  be  tiouble  bv 
and  by  at  the  (loldeii  Do^- — maik  that,  I'abet  !  It  was 
onlv  the  other  dav  the  Intendant  was  conversinLT  with  the 
Sieur  Cadet  as  they  crossed  the  fen\-.  'J'hey  foigot  me, 
or  thouij;lit  I  did  not  hear  them  :  but  1  had  ni_\-  ears  open, 
as  I  al\\a\s  ha\e.  I  heard  soniethini;  said  and  I  hope  no 
harm  will  come  to  the  good  IJourgeois.  that  is  all  !  " 

"  I  don't  knctw  where  ("hrisiian  folk  would  deal  if  any- 
thing happened  him."  said  IJabet  reflectively.  *' We  always 
get  ci\ility  and  good  jiennxworths  at  the  (lolden  Dog. 
Some  of  the  lying  cheats  of  the  l'"iiponne  talked  in  my 
liearingone(la\' about  his  being  a  Huguenot.  Hut  how  can 
that  be.  Jean  t  When  he  gives  the  best  weight  and  the  long- 
est measure  of  any  inerch  mt  in  (Quebec  Religion  is  a  just 
vard  wand,  that  is  m\-  belief,  lean.  " 


I 


y\'- 


THE  ITIXERANT NOTARY. 


37 


ant 

by 

was 

the 

mc, 

pen, 

no 

tmy- 
lays 
l)()g. 

my 
lean 
|)n«;- 

iust 


Jean  rnlil")e(l  his  head  with  a  peiplexed  air — ''  I  do  not 
know  whether  lie  be  a  HnLiuenol — nor  what  a  I  luiriienol  is. 
The  Cure  one  ch\y  said,  he  was  a  Jansenist  on  all  fours, 
which  I  su|)i)ose  is  the  same  tiling;  Babet — and  it  does  not 
concern  either  you  or  me.  JUit  a  merchant  who  is  a  {gen- 
tleman, and  kind  to  poor  folk,  and  i^ives  just  measure  and 
honest  weight,  speaks  truth  and  harms  nobody,  is  christian 
enou<;h  for  me.  A  llishop  could  not  trade  more  honestly; 
and  tlie  word  of  the  r>ouij;e(jis  is  as  reliable  as  a  kini^'s." 

"The  Cure  may  call  the  IJourc^eois  what  he  likes,"  re- 
plied Babet,  "  but  there  is  not  another  christian  in  the  city 
if  the  "^ood  bourgeois  be  not  one  ;  and  next  the  church 
there  is  not  a  house  in  Quebec  better  known  or  better  liked 
by  all  the  habitants,  than  the  Golden  Dog;  and  such  bar- 
gains, too,  as  one  gets  there  !  " 

"  Aye,  Babet  !  a  good  bargain  settles  many  a  knotty 
point  with  a  woman." 

"  And  with  a  man  too,  if  he  is  wise  enough  to  let  his 
wife  do  his  marketing  as  you  do,  Jean  !  But  who  have  we 
here?  "     JJabet  set  her  arms  a  kimbo  and  ga/ed. 

A  number  of  hardy  felh^wscame  down  towards  the  ferry 
to  seek  a  passage. 

"  They  are  honest  habitans  of  St.  Ann^s,"  replied  Jean. 
**  I  know  them,  they,  too,  are  on  the  king's  corve'e,  and 
travel  free,  every  man  of  them  !  So  I  must  cry  7'irc  Lc  Roi .' 
and  pass  them  over  to  the  city.  It  is  like  a  holiday  when 
one  works  for  nothing  !  " 

Jean  stepjied  nimbly  into  his  boat,  followed  by  the 
rough  country  fellows,  wlio  amused  themsehes  by  joking 
at  Jean  Le  N<jcher's  increasing  trade,  and  the  need  of 
putting  on  an  extra  boat  these  stirring  times.  Jean  put  a 
good  face  ui)on  it,  laughed  and  retorted  their  (|uips,  and, 
plying  his  oars,  stoutly  performed  his  part  in  the  king's 
corvc'e  by  safely  landing  them  on  the  other  shore. 

Meantime  the  officer  who  had  lately  crossed  the  ferry 
rode  ra])idly  up  the  long,  straight  highway  that  led  upon  the 
side  of  the  mountain  to  a  cluster  of  white  cottages,  and  an 
old  church,  surmoimled  by  a  belfry  whose  sweet  bells  were 
ringing  melodiously  in  the  fresh  air  of  the  morning. 

The  sun  was  pouring  a  Hood  erf  goKlen  light  over  the  land- 
scape. The  still  glittering  dew  drops  hung  upon  the  trees, 
shrubs,  and  long  points  of  grass  by  the  way-side.  All  were 
dressed  with  jewels  to  greet  the  rising  king  of  day. 


3S 


THE  CI II EN  D'OR. 


m 


lit 


The  wide,  o])cn  fields  of  meadow,  and  corn  fields,  ripen- 
ing for  harvest,  slretclu-d  fai'  away,  unbroken  h}-  hedije  or 
fence.  Sli_i;ht  ditches  or  banks  of  turf,  covered  with  nests 
of  \iolets,  ferns  and  wild  llowers  of  every  hue,  separated 
contii^uous  fields.  No  other  division  seemed  necessary  in 
the  mutual  ^ood  nei^hborhooil  that  prevailinl  amoiiLj  the 
colonists,  whose  fashion  of  aj^riculture  had  been  brou;:;h!, 
with  many  hardy  virtues,  from  the  old  plains  of  Xormaiuly. 

White  walled,  red  roofed  cottaj^es,  or  more  substantial 
farm  houses,  stood  consjiicuously  in  the  jj;reen  liclds  or 
peered  out  of  eml)owering  oichards.  Their  casements  were 
open  to  catch  the  balniy  air,  while  in  not  a  few  the  sound 
of  clattering  hoofs  on  the  hard  road  drew  fair  faces  to  the 
window  or  door,  to  look  inquisitively  after  the  officer 
wearing  the  white  plume  in  his  milil  ry  chajDeau,  as  he  clash- 
ed bv  on  the  <rallant  grev. 

'J'hose  who  caught  sight  of  him  saw  a  man  worth  see- 
ing— tall,  deep  chested,  and  erect.  His  Norman  features 
without  bjing  perfect  were  handsome  and  manly.  Steel 
blue  eves,  solidly  set  under  a  broad  forehead,  looked  out 
searchingly  yet  kindly,  while  his  well  formed  chin  and  firm 
lips  gave  an  air  of  resolution  to  his  whole  look  that  accord- 
ed jxM'fectly  with  the  brax'c  loyal  character  of  C'olonel  I'hil- 
ibert.  He  wore  the  roval  uniform.  His  auburn  hair  he 
W'ore  tied  with  a  black  ribbon.  His  good  taste  discarded 
perukes  and  powder  although  very  much  in  fashion  in 
those  days. 

It  was  lone:  since  he  had  travelled  on  the  hi<:hwav  of 
Charlebourg,  antl  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  beauty  of  the 
road  he  traversed.  But  behind  him,  as  he  knew,  lav  a  mag- 
nificent  spectacle,  the  sight  of  the  great  promontory  of 
Quebec,  crowned  with  its  glorious  fortifications  and  replete 
with  the  proudest  memories  of  North  America.  More  than 
once  the  voung*soldier  turned  his  steed  and  halted  a  mo- 
ment  or  two  to  survev  the  scene  with  enthusiastic  admira- 
tion.  It  was  his  native  citv,  and  the  thougiit  that  it  was 
threatened  by  the  national  enemy  roused  like  an  insult 
offered  to  the  mother  that  bore  him.  He  rode  onward 
more  than  ever  im|)atient  of  delay,  and  not  till  he  passed 
a  cluster  of  elm  trees  which  reminded  him  of  an  adventure 
of  his  youth,  did  the  sudden  heat  pass  away,  caused  by  the 
thought  of  the  tlireatened  invasion. 

Under   these  trees   he   remembered   that   he,  and  his 


i 
I 
I 


THE   I  FIXER  A  XT  NO  TA  R  Y. 


39 


of 
Ithe 

'\^'- 
of 

to 

an 

iio- 

|ia- 

as 

hit 

(I 

■d 

ire 

he 

is 


school  conipaiiion  Lr  (lardeur  do  RoiK'nlij^niy  had  once 
taken  refuse  durinj;  a  violent  storm.  The  tree  ihey  stood 
under  was  shattered  hy  a  tliun(leri)olt.  The}'  were  both 
stunned  for  a  few  niiniiles,  and  knew  they  had  had  a  nar- 
row escape  from  death.      Neither  of  tlieni  ever  fori^ot  it. 

A  train  of  thonirhls,  never  lon<r  absent  fiom  the  mind  of 
Philibert,  started  Uj)  vividly  at  the  sii^dn  of  these  trees. 
His  nieiiK)ry  flew  back  to  Le  (lardeni"  and  the  Manor  house 
of  Tilly,  and  tin'  fair  younL;  i;irl  wlio  captivated  iiis  boyish 
fancv,  and  lilled  Ills  voulli  with  dreams  of  ijjorious  ai  hie\e- 
nienls,  lo  win  her  smiles  and  do  her  honor.  Amon^  a 
thousand  pictures  of  lier  iuniL;  up  in  iiis  mind  and  secret- 
ly worshii)ped,  he  loved  that  which  jjresented  her  likene.s.s 
on  tliat  da\  when  he  saved  her  brotiier's  life,  and  she  kiss- 
ed him  in  a  passion  of  joy  and  gratitude,  vowinj.;  she  would 
pra\'  for  him  to  the  end  of  her  life. 

The  imagination  of  Pierre  I'liiiibert  had  revelled  in  the 
romantic  visions  that  haunt  every  boy  destined  to  |)roinin- 
cnce.  \'is;i>i>s  kindled  by  llie  eye  of  woman  .nnl  the  hope 
of  lo\e. 

Tlie  world  is  ruled  by  such  dreams,  dreams  of  impas- 
sioned hearts,  and  ini|)ro\  isations  of  warm  lijjs,  not  by  cold 
words  linked  in  chains  of  iron  setjuence,  1)\  lo\c.  not  by 
loi;ic.  The  heart,  with  its  passions,  not  the  understandinjj; 
with  its  reasoning,  sway,  in  the  long  run,  the  actifjns  of 
mankind. 

Pierre  Philibert  ]K-»ssessed  that  rich  gift  of  nature,  a 
creative  imagination,  in  addition  to  the  solid  judgment  «)f  a 
man  of  sense,  schooled  by  experience'  and  used  to  the 
considerations  and  responsibilities  of  weighty  atTairs, 

His  love  forAmeliede  Repeniignyhad  grown  in  secret. 
Its  roots  reached  down  to  the  ver\  (lej)th^  of  his  being.  It 
miniiled  consciouslv  or  unconsciouslv  uith  all  his  n)oti\es 
and  plans  of  life,  and  )'et  his  hopes  were  not  sanguine. 
Years  of  absence,  lie  remembered,  w(»rk  forgetful ness. 
New  ties  and  assdciations  might  have  wiped  out  the  mem- 
orv  of  him  in  the  mind  of  a  vouuii  iiirl  fresh  to  soc  ietv  and 
its  delights.  He  expeiienced  a  disapj)ointnunt  in  not 
finding  her  in  tlie  city  upon  his  retuin  a  few  days  ;!gf>.  and 
the  state  of  the  colony  and  the  stress  of  militarv  dutv  had 
SO  far  prevented  his  renewing  his  acquaintance  with  the 
Manor  house  of  Tilly. 

The  old  fashioned   hostelry  of  the  Couronne  de  France 


I  I 


40 


77//i  ClflEX  D'OR. 


"■\  U 


\\% 


\\  1 


with  its  liij.^h  pitched  roof,  pointed  _2^ah!es,  nnd  l)roa(l  j^ah 
Icry  stood  (Hrectly  opposite  the  rustic  church  and  tall  belfry 
of  Charlehour^:;.  not  as  a  rival,  but  as  a  sort  of  adjunct  to 
the  sacred  edifice.  Tiie  si^n  (»f  the  crown,  briijht  with 
gilding,  swun;^^  from  the  low,  projectini:;  arm  of  a  maple 
tree,  thick  with  shade  and  rustlini;  with  the  beautiful  leaves 
of  the  emblem  of  Canada.  A  few  rustic  seats  under  the 
cool  maple  were  usually  occu|Died,  toward  the  i:lose  of  the 
day,  or  about  the  rin^in<j;  of  the  Angelus,  bya  little  gather- 
in*;  of  parishioneis  from  ihe  village,  talking  over  the  news 
of  the  day,  the  progiess  of  the  war,  the  ordinances  of  the 
Intendant,  or  the  exactions  of  the    I'Vi])onne. 

On  Sundays,  after  Mass  and  Vespers,  the  hahitans  of 
all  parts  of  the  extended  parish  naturally  met  and  talked 
over  the  affairs  of  the  l'*abri(iue.  I'he  value  of  tithes  for 
the  year,  the  abundance  of  Ivister  eggs,  and  the  weiglit  of 
the  tirst  salmon  of  the  season,  which  was  always  presented 
to  the  Cure  wit'i  the  hrst  fruits  of  the  field,  to  ensure  the 
blessing  of  plenty  for  the  rest  of  the  year. 

The  keverend  Cure*  frec[uently  mingled  in  these  dis- 
cussions. Seated  in  his  accustomed  arm  chair,  under  the 
shade  of  tlie  maple  in  summer,  and  in  winter  by  the  warm 
fireside,  he  defended,  ex  i\iffh: Inu  the  rights  of  the  church, 
and  good-hnmoredlv  decided  all  contro\ersies.  He  found 
his  jjarishioners  moie  amenable  to  good  advice  over  a  mug 
of  Norman  citler  and  a  pipe  of  native  tobacco,  under  the 
sign  of  the  crown  of  France,  than  when  he  lectured  them 
in  his  best  and  most  learned  st}le  from  the  pul[)it. 

I'his  morning,  however,  all  was  very  (|uiet  round  the 
old  Inn.  The  birds  were  singing  and  the  bees  humming 
in  the  pleasant  sunshine.  'I'he  house  looked  clean  and 
tidy,  and  no  one  was  to  be  seen  except  three  persons  bend- 
ing over  a  table,  with  their  heads  close  together  deepl)'  ab- 
sorbed in  whatever  business  they  were  engaged  in.  Two 
of  these  persons  were  Dame  Be  lard,  the  sharp  landlady 
of  the  Crown  of  ^''rance,  and  her  no  less  sharp  and  pie'  y 
daughter,  Zoe.  The  thiicl  person  of  the  trio  was  an  old 
alert  looking  little  man  writing  at  the  table  as  if  for  very 
life.  He  wore  a  tattered  black  robe,  shortened  at  the  knee, 
to  facilitate  walking,  a  frizzled  wig  looking  as  if  it  had 
been  dressed  with  a  curry  comb,  a  pair  of  black  breeches, 
well  patched  with  various  colors,  and  gamaches  of  brown 
leather,  such  as  the  liabitans  wore,  completed   his  odd  at- 


TlfR  IT/. VERA  XT  .VOTARY. 


4» 


l- 

V 

[o 

y 
y 


'  \ 


tire,  and  fornit-d  tin-  profcssicmal  costunu'  of  Nfaster  Po- 
thicr  (/if  Kohiii,  the  tr.ivcllin^  Xot.iry,  oiu'  of  that  not  iiii- 
uscful  order  of  itinerants  of  the  law,  which  llourisiied  un- 
der tiie  old  ri-i^i'ir-  in  Xew  P'rance. 

Upon  the  table  near  him  stood  ;i  hi  ick  bottle,  an  empty 
trencher  and  a  thick  scatter  of  crumbs,  showing'  that  tlie 
old  notary  had  despatched  a  heart}'  breakfast  before  coin- 
mencini^  his  ])resent  work  of  the  pen. 

A  hairy  kna|)sack  lay  opiai  upon  the  table  near  his  elbow. 
disclosiuLi  some  bundles  of  dirt}'  |)a|)ers  tied  U|)  with  red 
tape  ;  a  tattered  vohune  or  two  of  the  Coiitunu'  t/r  Paris, 
and  little  more  than  the  covers  of  an  orl  1  tome  of  I'othier, 
his<;reat  namesake  and  prime  authoiitv  in  the  law.  S^me 
linen,  dirty  and  raL,''jjed  as  his  law  pqiers,  was  crammed 
into  his  knapsack  with  theiu.  I'ui  that  was  neith  -x  here 
nor  there  in  the  estimation  of  the  /i<ihitans,  so  Ion  ,^  as  his 
law  smelt  stronjj^  in  the  nostrils  of  their  opponen's  in  liti- 
gation. They  rat!ierpi  L'l  ihe.uijlves  up  )'i  the  louijjhness 
of  their  travellin<f  notary. 

The  reputation  of  M.ister  I'othier  dif  Kobin  was.  of 
coiu'se,  very  <;reat  amouLC  the  /hrf'/'/rns.  as  he  tra\i-lled 
from  parish  to  jiiiish.  and  from  Sei'^neurie  to  S'i;neurie, 
(lrawin;L(  bills  and  lupothec  uions.  marria'^e  contracts  and 
last  wills  and  testaments  for  the  peasantry, who  had  a  i.!;en- 
uine  Norniin  pre  hlecti  )u  for  law  and  chicanerv.  And  a  re- 
spect amouiuini;  to  \eneration  for  written  documents,  red 
tape  and  sealiiiLi;  wa.\.  Master  i'oihier's  acuteness  in  pick- 
ing; holes  in  the  (irL's  oi  a  ri\al  not  uy  was  oidy  surjiassed 
by  the  elaborate  intricacv  of  his  own,  which  he  boasted, 
not  without  reasf)n,  would  puz/le  the  parliament  of  Paris 
and  conf  )Un  1  the  inj;enuit}- of  th'-  sh  irp-st  advocates  of 
Rouen.  .Master  i'oihier's  iiits  were  as  full  of  embryo  dis- 
putes as  a  \v^  is  full  of  seeds,  aiid  usually  kept  all  parlies 
in  hot  water  and  litii^ation  for  the  rest  of  their  da\s.  If  he 
did  happen  now  and  then  to  settle  a  dispute  between  neigh- 
bor's he  made  ample  amends  for  it  by  setting;  half  the  rest 
of  the  parish   bv  the  ears. 

Master  I'oihier's  nose,  sharj)  and  fiery  as  if  dipped  in  red 
ink,  almost  touched  the  sheet  of  |)aperonthe  table  before 
him,  as  he  wrote  down  from  the  tlictation  of  Dame  r.e'd ard 
the  articles  of  a  marriage  contract  between  her  pretty 
daughter, -Zoe,  and  Antoine  La  Chance,  the  son  of  a  com- 
fortable but  keen  widow  of  IJeauport. 


4» 


THE  Cm/LV  D'OR. 


Dame  Ik'chird  had  shrewdly  a\aik;d  hcrsrlf  of  the  pres- 
ence of  Master  I'otliier,  and  in  payineiil  of  a  night's  hxli;- 
in;;,  at  the  Crown  of  I'raiice,  to  ha\e  him  write  cmt  the 
contract  of  marriage  in  the  absence  of  Dame  La  Chance, 
the  mother  of  Antoine,  who  wouhl  of  course  object  to  the 
insertion  of  certain  conditions  in  the  contract  wiiich  I)ame 
liechird  was  (|uile  determined  upon  as  tiic-  price  of  Zoii's 
hand  and  fortune. 

"There!  Dame  lU'chird!"  cried  Master  Pothier,  stick- 
\w^  the  pen  behind    his   ear,  af'i''r  a  maniiificent  llouiish  al 


tl 


le  hist  WDrd,  '*  there  is  a  marna-jje    contract  tit  to  espouse 


King  Solomon  to  tlie  (^ueen  of  Sheba  !  A  dowry  of  a  hun- 
dred li\  res  tournoiscs.  two  cows,  and  a  featlier  bed,  bed- 
stead, and  chest  of  linen  !     A  donation  <nt)ri'ifx  ."' 

"Awhai?  Master  I'othier,  now  mind!  are  .you  sure 
that  is  the  ri<j;ht  word  of  tlie  grimoire?"  cried  Dame  JJe- 
dard,  instinctively  perceivinji^  that  here  hiy  the  very  point 
of  the  contract.  **  \'ou  know  I  oidy  give  on  condition, 
Master  Tothier." 

'•(_)  yes!  trust  me,  Dame  Bedard.  I  have  made  it  a 
donation  cntrc  vifs^  rcvocaldc  par  cause  trin^^ratituJc,  if  your 
future  son-in-law,  Antoine  La  Chance,  should  fail  in  his  duty 
to  y(Hi  and  to  Zoe." 

"And  he  won't  do  his  duty  to  Zoe,  unless  he  does  it  to 
me,  ^L^ster  Pothier.  JJut  are  you  sure  it  is  strong  enough. 
Will  it  hold  Dame  La  Chance  by  the  foot  so  that  she  can- 
not revoke  her  gifts  although  I  may  revoke  min    ?" 

"Mold  Dame  La  Chance  by  the'foot  ?  It  will  hold  her 
as  fast  a;-,  a  snapping  turtle  does  a  frog.  In  proof  of  it 
see  what  Ricard  saws  :  "page  970.  Here  is  the  book." 
Master  I'othier  ()i:)ened  his  tattered  volume  and  held  it  up 
to  the  I)an>e.     She  shook  her  head. 

"  Thanks,  I  have  mislaid  my  glasses.  Do  you  read, 
please  ! " 

"  Most  cheerfully,  good  Dame  !  A  notary  must  have 
eyes  for  everybody — eyes  like  a  cat's  to  see  in  the  dark, 
and  power  to  draw  them  in  like  a  turtle,  so  that  he  may  see 
nothing  that  he  does  not  want  to  see." 

''  Oh,  bless  the  eyes  of  the  Notary  !  "  Dame  Be'dard 
grew  impatient.  "  U'ell  me  what  the  book  says  about  gifts 
revocable — that  is  what  concerns  me  and  Zoe." 

"  Well  here  it  is,  Dame.  '  Donations  stipulated  revoca- 
ble at  the  pleasure  of  the  donor  are  null.  But  this  condition 


11 


THE  1TI.\  ERA  \  1-  XO  TAKV. 


43 


a 


it 


does  not  apply  to  donatiotis  by  contract  of  nianiage,* 
Bourdon  also  says — " 

"  A  fi^  (or  IJourdon,  and  all  sue  h  drones  !  I  want  my 
gift  niailc  revocable.  Dame  La  Chance's  is  not!  1  know  by 
lonij;  experience,  with  my  dear  /C//  He'dard,  how  necessary  it 
is  to  hold  the  reins  li'dil  widi  the  men.  Anloine  is  a  irood 
boy,  but  he  will  be  all  the  belter  for  a  careful  mother-in- 
law's  supervision  .''  " 

Master  Polhier  rubbed  the  top  of  his  wig  with  his  fore- 
finger. 

"Are  you  sure,  Dame,  that  Anloine  La  Chance  will 
wear  the  bridle  easily  ?  " 

'•Assuredly!  I  should  like  to  see  son-in-law  o"  mine 
who  would  not!  J5esides,  Anloine  is  in  the  humor  just 
now  to  refuse  nothimr  for  sake  of  Zoc'.  lla\e  vou  inen- 
tioned  the  children,  ALister  I'olhier.''  I  do  not  intend  lo 
let  Dame  La  Chance  control  the  children  any  more  than 
Zoe  anti  Anloine  " 

"  I  ha\'e  made  you  tut  rice  pcrpctiicllc,  as  we  say  in  the 
court,  and  here  it  is,"  said  he  placing  ihe  lip  of  his  lin- 
ger on  a  certain  line  in  the  document. 

Zoe  looked  down  and  blushed  lo  her  finger  ends.  She 
presently  rallied  and  said  with  some  spirit — "  Never 
\\\\\\A  them.  Master  Polhier!  Don't  put  thon  in  the  con- 
tract !  Lei  Anloine  have  something  lo  say  about  them. 
He  would  take  me  without  a  dower,  I  know,  and  lime 
enough  lo  remind  him  about  children  when  they  come." 

"  Take  you  without  ilower  !  Zoe  Bedard  !  you  must  be 
mad  !  "  exclaimed  the  Dame,  in  great  heal.  "  \o  girl  in 
New  France  can  marry  without  a  dower,  if  it  be  only  a  pot 
and  a  bedstead  !  \'ou  forget  too  that  the  dower  is  given 
not  so  much  for  you,  as  to  keep  up  the  credit  of  the  family. 
As  well  be  married  without  a  ring!  Without  a  dower,  in- 
deed !  " 

"  Or  without  a  contract  written  by  a  notary,  signed, 
sealed  and  delivered  !  "  chimed  in  Master  Polhier. 

"  Yes,  Master  Polhier,  and  I  have  promised  Zoe  a  three 
days'  wedding,  which  will  make  her  the  envy  of  iill  the 
parish  of  Charlebourg.  The  Seigneur  has  consented  to 
give  her  away  in  place  of  her  poor  defunct  father  ;  and 
when  he  does  that,  he  is  sure  lo  stand  god-father  for  all 
the  children,  with  a  present  for  everyone  of  them!  I 
shall  invite  you  loo,  Master  Polhier !  " 


44 


TIIF.  C/fn-N  D  OR. 


Zoti  afTc'Ctc'd  not  to  hear  her  mother's  rouvirk.  .ihhoiifrh 
she  kiK'W  it  all  by  heart,  for  it  had  lici'ii  dinned  into  her 
cars  twenty  times  a  day  for  weeks,  and  sooth  to  sa\',  she 
liked  to  hear  it,  and  fully  appreeiated  the  honors  to  come 
from  the  patronaj^e  of  the  Seij^neur. 

Master  i'olhier  |)ricke(l  u|)  his  ears,  till  they  fairly 
raised  his  wii;,  at  the  prospect  of  a  three  days'  weddini,^  at 
tile  C'rown  of  I'"rance.  lie  he^an  an  elalxuate  repl\-,  when 
a  horse's  tramp  broke  in  upon  tiiem,  and  Colonel  I'hilibert 
wheeled  u[)  to  the  door  of  the  hosteliy. 

Master  Polhier,  seein<;  an  offuxM'  in  the  kint^'s  uniform, 
rose  on  the  instant  and  saluted  him  with  a  piofonnd  bow, 
while  Dame  Dedard  and  Zoe,  standin^j  side  l)y  sid  ',  drop- 
ped their  lowest  courtsey  to  the  handsoaie  i^entleinan,  as, 
with  woman's  <;1  a  nee.  they  saw  in  a  moment  he  was. 

IMiilibert  returned  their  salute  courleouslv,  as  he  halted 
his  horse  in  front  of  Dame  Hedard.  "Madame!"  said 
he,  "  I  thou;;ht  I  knew  all  roads  about  Charlebourj;',  but  I 
have  either  forgotten  or  they  have  chani^ed  the  road 
throuf^h  the  forest  to  lieaumanoir.  It  is  surely  altered 
froiH  what  it  was." 

"  Vour  honor  is  ri<;ht,"  answered  Dame  Ik'dard,  "  the 
Intendant  has  o[KMie(l  a  new  road  throuj^h  the  forest."  Zoe 
took  the  opportunity,  while  the  otilicer  looked  at  her  mother, 
to  examine  his  features,  dress  and  e([uipments.  from  head 
to  foot,  and  ihouj^ht  him  the  handsomest  officer  she  had 
ever  seen. 

"1  thought  it  must  ])e  so,"  replied  Philibert,  "you  are 
the  landlady  of  the  Crown  of  I'Yance,  I  presume .'' "  Dame 
Bedard  carried  it  on  her  face  as  plainly  marked  as  the 
royal  emblem  on  the  sign  over  her  head. 

"  Yes,  vour  honor,  I  am  widow  Jk'dard  at  vour  service, 
and.  I  hope,  keep  as  good  a  hostelry  as  your  honor  will  find 
in  the  C)lony.  Will  your  honor  alight  and  take  a  cup  of 
wine,  such  as  I  keep  for  guests  of  quality?  " 

"Thanks,  Madame  IJedard,  1  am  in  haste  ;  I  must  find 
the  way  to  Beaumanoir.  Can  you  not  furnish  me  a 
guide,  for  I  like  not  to  lose  time  by  missing  my  way.-"' 

"  A  guide,  Sir !  The  men  are  all  in  the  city  on  the 
king's  corvee;  Zoe  could  show  you  the  way  easily  enough." 
Zoe  twitched  her  mother's  arm  nervously,  as  a  hint  not  to 
say  too  much.  She  felt  flattered  and  fluttered  too  at  the 
thought    of    guiding    the    strange  handsome    gentleman 


|i' 


THE  ITIXER ANT  NOTARY 


45 


throii<j;h  the  forest,  and  already  the  question  shot  throuj^h 


her    fanev 


w 


h  It  iniirht   come  of  it  ?     Siiih   ihiiiiis  have 


hajjpened  in  stories  !  "  Poor  Zoii  !  she  was  for  a  few  sec- 
onds inifailhful  to  tiie  memory  of  Antoine  La  Chance. 
lUit  Dame  iJcdard  seltled  all  surmises  by  turnini;  to  Mas- 
ter Tolliier   who   stood  stiff   and  u|)ri;;ht  as  became  a  limi) 


of  the    hiw. 


Here   is   Master  Pothier,   \(nir  honor,   wh 


o 

knows  everv  hi^;hwav  and  bvwav  in  ten  sei;:neuries.  He 
will  ^uide  vour  honor  to   Heaumanoir." 

"  As  easy  as  take  a  fee  or  eatei-  a  process,  your  h(Mior," 
remarked  Master  I'olhier,  whose  odd  li<;me  had  several 
times  drawn  the  criticizimr  eve  of  Colonel  I'hilibert. 

"A  fee  !  ah  !  you  l)el()iii;  to  the  law  then,  m\'  gf)od 
friend?  I  have  known  m my  advofiics, — "  but  I'hilibert 
slopped  ;  he  was  too  j^ood   natured  to  I'liiish  his  sentence. 

'*  Vou  nevei"  saw  one  like  me?  your  h(<nor  was  j;oing 
to  sav.  True  vou  ne\ri-  did.  I  am  Master  Pothier,  liit 
Robin,  the  poor  travellini^  notary  at  y(nir  honor's  service, 
readv  to  draw  you  a  bond,  frame  an  atfc  oi  cotnu-iitiou  viat- 
rinioiualc  or  write  your  last  will  and  testament  with  any 
Notary  in  New  l"'rance.  I  can,  moreover,  j^uide  your  hon- 
or to  IJcaumanoir  as  easy  as  drink  your  health  in  a  cup  of 
Cognac." 

IMillibert  could  not  but  smile  at  the  travelliuLj  notary, 
and  thinkinj^  to  iiimself  "too  much  (Jo^nac  at  the  end  of 
that  m)se  of  yours,  my  friend  !"  and  which  indeed  lookt'd 
fier}'  as  JJardolph's,  with  liardl)-  a  sp(jt  for  a  Hy  to  rest  his 


1'^ 


foot  upon  without  burnii 

"  But  how  will  you  ljo  friend?"  asked  Philibert,  look- 
ing down  ;it  Master  Pothier's  gamaches ;  "you  don't  look 
like  a  fast  walker?  " 

"()h.  your  honor."  interrupted  Dame  Bedard,  impatient- 
ly, for  Zoe  had  been  Iwitchinj;  her  hard  to  let  her  go. 
"  Master  Pothier  can  ride  the  old  sorrel  nag,  that  stands  in 
the  stable  eating  its  head  olT  for  want  of  hire.  Of  course 
vour  honor  will  pav  liverv  ?  " 

Why,  certainly,  Madaiue,  and  glad  to  do  so.  So  Mas- 
ter I'othier  make  haste,  get  the  sorrel  nag,  and  let  us  be 
off." 

"I  will  be  back  in  the  snap  of  a  pen,  or  in  the  time 
Dame  Bedard  can  draw^  that  cup  of  Cognac,  your  honor." 

"  Master  Pothier  is  ([uite  a  pt.'rsonage  I  see,"  remarked 
Philibert,  as  the  old  notary  shaltled  oti  to  saddle  the  nag. 


\m 


H 


46 


T//E  CirTEN  D'OR. 


"Oh,  quite,  your  Honor.  He  is  the  sharpest  notary 
they  say  that  travels  the  road.  W'hen  he  ^cts  jjcople  into 
law  they  never  can  get  out.  He  is  so  clever  everybody 
says!  Why.  he  assures  nie  that  even  the  liUcndant  -con- 
sults him  sometimes  as  the}'  sit  eatinj;  and  drinl<in<;  half 
the  niirht  towther  in  the  hutterv  at  the  ChAteau  !  " 

"  Really  !  I  must  be  careful  what  I  say,"  replied  Phili- 
bert,  laughing,  "or  I  shall  get  into  hot  water!  ]Jut  here 
lie  comes.'' 

As  lie  spoke,  Master  Pothier  came  up,  mounted  on  a 
raw  boned  nag,  lank  as  the  remains  of  a  twenty  year's  law 
suit.  Zoe,  at  a  hint  from  the  C'olonel,  handed  him  a  cup 
of  Cognac,  whichi  he  (juarfed  without  breathing,  smacking 
his  lij)s  emphatically  after  it  ;  he  called  out  to  the  landlad}, 
"'I'ake  care  of  my  knapsack.  Dame!  Vou  had  better  burn 
the  house  than  lose  my  papers!  iVdieu,  Zoe!  study  over 
the  marriage  contract  till  I  return,  and  I  shall  be  sure  of 
a  good  dinner  from  your  pretty  hands." 

'I'hey  set  off  at  a  round  trot.  Colonel  Philibert,  imjia- 
tient  to  reach  Heaumanoir,  spurred  on  for  a  while,  hardly 
noticing  the  absurd  figure  of  his  guide,  whose  legs  stuck 
out  like  a  pair  of  compasses  beneath  his  tattered  gown. 
His  shaking  head  threatening  dislodginent  to  hat  and  \v'g, 
while  his  elbows  churned  at  every  jolt,  maki'.ig  play  with 
the  bhufitiing  gait  of  his  spavined  and  wall-eyed  nag. 


CHAPTER    VI. 


lU'.AUMANOIR. 


They  rode  on  in  silence.  A  little  beyond  the  village 
of  Charlebourg  thev  suddenlv  turned  into  the  forest  of  Beau- 
rnanoir,  where  a  well-beaten  track,  practicable  both  for 
caniages  and  horses,  gave  indications  that  ;he  resort  of 
visitors  to  the  Chateau  was  neither  small  nor  seldom. 

'i'he  sun's  rays  scarcely  penetrated  the  sea  of  \er(lure 
overhead.  'I'he  ground  was  thicklv  strewn  with  leaves, 
the  memoi-ials  of  past  summers  ;  delicate  ferns  clustered 
round  upturned  roots  of  trees  ;  the  pretty  star-tiowers, 
dark  purple  trilliums,  and  St.  John's  wort  nestled  \\\  sunny 


BEAUMA.VO/R. 


47 


spots,  and  the  dark  p;rcen  pines  breathed  ont  a  resinous 
odor,  fresh  and  invi_L:;()ralinL:^  to  the  iiassin^  rider, 

A  little  l)rof)k  peeped  liere  and  tlu're  shyly  in  the  forest, 
as  it  wound  thr()u:;h  swales  clothed  in  spiry  <^rass.  Its 
tiny  banks,  spotted  with  sihery  anemones  or  tufts  of  ladies' 
slipper.s,  ininL;i<'d   with  rosy  bells  of  tin-  l,inn;eus  IJorealis. 

C'olonel  I'hilibert,  while  his  thoughts  were  for  the  most 
pai"t  fixed  on  the  jnibiic  danii^ers  which  led  to  this  liasty 
\isit  of  his  to  the  Chateau  of  IJcaumanoir,  iiad  still  an  eye 
foi"  tin;  beaut\"  of  the  forest,  a\\(\  not  a  s(|uirrel  leaped,  nor 
a  l)ir(l  Hutterinu;  anionij^  the  branches,  escaped  his  notice  as 
he  puss,  (!  I)\-.  Siill  he  rode  on  rapidly,  and  ha\in^  got 
tairlv  into  the  road,  soon  outstripped   his  ujuide. 

"  A  crooked  road  lhi>  to  Heaunianoir,"  remarked  he  at 
lenj;th,  drawing;  bridle  lo  allow  Master  I'othier  t<.)  rejoin 
him.  "It  is  as  ma/y  as  the  law.  I  am  fi^rtunate,  I  am 
sure,  in  lia\iiig  a  sliaip  notary  like  xou  to  conduct  me 
throujjjh  it." 

"  Conduct  \"ou  !  Vour  Honor  is  leading  me  !  But  the 
road  to  Beaumiiioir  is  as  intricate  as  the  best  case  ever 
drawn  up  by  aw  itinerant  notai"y." 

"  Vou  seldom  ride,  M.iste'r  Pothier  ? "  said  I'hilibert, 
obser\iu;^  his  ^iii.le  joliim;  with  aw  audible  grunt  at  every 
step  of  his  awkward  nag. 

'*  Kide,  your  Honor!  N — no!  Dame  l»L'(kird  shall 
call  me  plaisaiit  Rohin  if  she  ever  tenuis  me  again  to 
mount  hi-r  li\erv  horse — '  if  fools  oidy  carried  cruppers  I  ' 
as  Panui"ge  sa_\s." 

'*  Whv.  Master  Pothier?"  I'hilibert  began  to  be  amused 
at  his  odd  guide. 

'•  Why  then  I  >hould  be  able  to  walk  to-morrow — that 
is  all  I  This  nag  will  tinish  me.  nunc !  Iianc !  hoc  !  He 
is  tit  to  bj  Satan's  tutor  at  the  Seminarv!  Hoc!  hand 
huuc !  I  luwe  not  declined  mv  |)ronouns  since  I  left  my  Ac- 
cidence at  the  High  School  of  Tours — not  till  today.  Iltinct 
hanc  !  hoc  !  I  shall  be  jolted  to  jelly  !  I  fund  hand  hoc  f' 

Philibert  laughed  at  the  classical  reminiscences  of  his 
guide  ;  but.  fearing  thai  I'othier  might  fall  off  his  horse, 
which  he  straddled  like  a  h.iy  fork,  he  stopped  to  allow 
the  worthy  notary  to  reco\er  his  breath  and  temper. 

"  I  hope  the  world  ap[ireciates  your  learning  and  talent, 
and  that  it  uses  you  more  gently  than  that  horse  of  yours," 
remarked  lie. 


48 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


Y\ 


m 


"  Oil,  your  Honor  !  it  is  kind  of  you  to  rein  up  by  the 
way.  I  fuui  no  fault  with  the  world  if  it  find  none  with 
me.  My  philosojihy  is  this,  that  the  world  is  as  men 
make  it." 

"  As  the  old  saying  is  : — 

'  To  lend,  or  to  spciul,  or  to  give  in, 
'Ti.s  a  vtry  good  world  tliat  we  live  in  ; 
]»iit  to  borrow,  oi  lice,  or  ,mt  a  man's  own, 
''l"ih>  tlic  very  worst  world  tiiat  ever  was  known.' 

And  vou  consider  voiu'self  in  the  latter  cateirorv,  Master 
I'othier  .''  "  IMiiiihert  s|)oke  douhtingly,  for  a  more  self- 
coniplaeent  face  than  his  companion's  he  never  saw — every 
wrinkle  trembled  with  mirth  :  eyes,  cheeks,  chin,  and  brows 
surroimdfd  that  jolly  red  nose  of  his  like  a  group  of  gay 
boys  roiuul  a  bon-tire. 

"  ( )h,  1  am  content,  your  Honor  !  We  notaries  are 
privileged  to  wear  furred  cloaks  in  the  Palais  de  Justice, 
and  black  robes  in  the  country  when  we  can  get  them  I 
— Look  here  at  my  robe  of  dignitv  !  "  Me  held  up  the 
tattered  tail  of  his  gown  with  a  ludicrous  air."  'I'he  pro- 
fession of  notary  is  meat,  drink  and  lodging  :  every  man's 
house  is  free  to  me — his  bed  and  board  I  share,  and  there 
is  neither  wedding,  christening,  nor  funeral  in  ten  parishes 
that  can  go  on  withf)ut  me  ;  (loxcrnors  and  Intendaiits 
flourish  and  fall,  but  jean  I'othier  dit  Rttbin,  the  itinerant 
notary,  lives  merrily:  men  may  do  without  bread,  but  they 
will  not  live  without  law — at  least,  in  this  noble  litigious 
New  I'lance  of  ours." 

"  \'our  ])r()fession  seems  quite  indispensable  then!"  re- 
marked i'hilibert. 

'*  Indisi)ensable  !  I  should  think  so  !  Without  proper 
catcs  the  world  would  soon  come  to  an  end,  as  did  Adam's 
happiness  in  JuK'n,  for  want  of  a  notary." 

"A  notary.  Master  I'othier.'" 

"  Yes,  your  Honor.  It  is  clear  that  Adam  lost  his  first 
estate  </<-  //.v/.\  <•/  friKtihtis  in  the  (larden  of  Kden,  simply 
because  there  was  no  notary  to  draw  up  for  him  an  inde- 
feasaljle  lease.  Whv,  he  had  not  even  a  hail  h  ifuiptal  (a 
chattel  mortgage)  o\'er  the  beasts  he  had  himself  named!" 

"  .Ah !"  replied  IMiilibert  smiling,  "I  thought  Ailarn 
lost  his  estate  through  i  cunning  notary,  who  persuaded  his 
wife   to   break  the   lease   he   held  ;  and  poor   Adam   lost 


j;a.u  .u.i.\()/A' 


Vj 


St 

h 


n 

lis 


possession  bcrnust'  lie  could   iii>i    tind   ;i  slm^oiuI   iiol,\i"\'  to 
(Icft'iul  hi--  titk'." 

Hum  I  lluil  iiiiijjlit  1)L' ;  hut  judLi'nicni  wi'iil  hv  dct.uilt, 


as    I    h:i\L'   road.      It   would    he  (litTeii.-m   iio\ 


ri\cri'  aii; 


notaries  in  Xew  l'"r;ince  and  ( )Id,  ('a]id)le  of  bealinq;  Luiihr 


r.ui, 


innsi'lr  \\\  a  jiroeess  tor  either  soul,   body,  or  estate 
lliank  fortune,  we  are  out  of  this  Hiick  forest  now." 

The  Iraxellers  had  ri'.n  hed  the  other  \erL,'i'  nf  the 
forest  of  I'eaumaiKjir.  A  hioad  phiin  (hilled  with  rhrups 
of  fair  trees  Ia\  spread  out  in  a  i"o\aI  (h)inaii),  owMloitked 
hv  a  sleep,  wotxied  mount, nn.  A  siKerv  l)rook  crossed  hv  a 
rustic  bridge  ran  ihroui^h  tlie  park.  !n  the  ceiure  was  a 
luii;"e  chistcr  of  j;ardens  and  patiiaicha!  titcs.  mu  of  the 
midst   of  whi(  h   v<t>c   the  steep  roof.  (  liininews.  and  i^ihh'd 


\anes.  Ilashinij;  m  tJie  sun.  i 


)f  the  {  haii'au    of    IJeaumanoir. 


Thi,'  ("hateau  was  a  h^n;.;,  hea\v  stiaicture  of  stone, 
j^abled  and  poinu-d  in  the  style  of  the  preciMhn^-  ceniurv  — 
htronj^  enou,t;h  hir  (K'fence,  and  eK-^aul  euoui^h  foi"  ihe 
abode  of  the  Koyal  Intoiuhinlof  New  I'rani'.e.  It  liad  be 'n 
l)uih  some  fourscore  years  pre\ious'v,  b\  tlie  Intendaul 
Jean  Taion.  a>  a  (piit-l  leireai  wht-n  tired  uiih  the  iinpor- 
Umities  of  friends  oi  the  peisecution  of  t-iieniies.  or  (hs- 
<j;usted  with  ll)e  coid  iii(h!fereiM-e  of  the  ('  lurt  to  his 
statesm.ndike  phuis  fo)-  ilic  c«)h)i)i/atioi)  ol  Nea  I'tauce. 
Here  he  h)\ed  to  retire  from  the  cit\,  an. I.  in  tiie  eom. 
j>anionshi|)  of  .1   few   t.hoM-u   friends,   talk    of    the  splendid 


lit 


era  lure  ot    the   a^e    1 


.f    1 


OUls 


X  I  \  ..    or   discuss   1  he  new 


piiilosophv   that  was  e\er\  u/iere  spriiiL^nv^  u|)  m   l','.n"o])e, 

W'iiliin  the  walls  of  the  (diateau  of  ileiunnnoir  ha  I 
the  Sieur  joliet  recounted  the  stor\.  ol  hi.s  adwnluroMs 
travels,  and  I"'ather  Marijueti'.' contirnu'd  ihe  \  I'j^ue  runens 
that  had  lonijj  circulated  in  the  colony  of  a  wonderful  ri\tr 
called  the  "  l-'ather  of  Wait-rs,  '  that  tlowi;d  southwards 
into  the  (Itilf  of  Mexico.  Here.  t(»o,  had  the,i;dlaiu  l.i 
Salle  taken  counsel  of  his  fiiend  .unl  jialron.  Talon,  when 
lie  set  off  to  explore  t'u'  i^neat  river  Mississij)pi,  seen  bv 
Joliet  and  Marquette,  and  claim  it  by  rii^lit  of  discovery 
as  the  possession  of  Trance. 

A  short  distance  from  the  ("liateau  rose  a  to^vei'  of 
rough  masonry — crian'Maied  on  t<jp  and  loop  holed  on  the 
.sides — which  had  been  buill  as  a  ))laci:  of  defence  and 
refui;e  durim;-  ihe  Indian  war^  of  ihe  ])recedin_:;  ceniurv. 
Often    had  the  [)rovvling   bands   of    Irocpiois    turned   away 


I 


50 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


bafTlccl  and  dismayed  at  the  si^ht  of  the  little  fortalicc  sur- 
iiioiinted  by  a  cuhcriii  or  two,  which  used  to  _<;ive  the 
alarm  of  iii\asion  to  the  colonists  on  the  slopes  oi  IJourg 
Royal,  and  to  the  dwellers  along  the  wild  b.mks  of  the 
Montmorency. 

The  tower  w;is  now  disused,  and  jjartly  dilapidated, 
but  Juanv  wonderful  tales  existed  amonij:  the  neiirhhorinsf 
fiahifjiis  (if  a  secret  |)assa,!^e  that  communicated  with  the 
vaults  of  the  Chateau  ;  but  no  one  had  ever  seen  the  pas- 
sa;4e — still  less  been  bold  enoui;h  to  explore  it  had  they 
found  it.  for  it  was  u^uarded  by  a  I-oiil^  Ganvi  that  was  the 
terrf)r  of  children  old  and  youni^,  as  they  crowded  close 
tojijether  rotnid  the  blazing;  tire  on  winter  m'j^hts,  and 
repealed  old  IcLjends  of  Hritlany  and  Normandy,  altered 
to  tit  the  wild  scenes  of  the  New  \\\)rld. 

Colonel  I'hilihert  and  Master  I'othier rode  upthe  broad 
avenue  that  led  to  the  Chateau,  and  halted  at  the  main 
gate — set  in  a  lofty  hedi^e  of  ever<j^reens,  cut  into  fantastic 
shapes,  after  the  fashion  of  the  Luxembourij^.  Within  the 
gate  a  vast  and  j^lowinj^  pirden  was  seen — all  squares, 
circles  and  polytj^ons.  'I'he  beds  were  laden  with  flowers 
sheddinj;  delicious  odors  on  the  morning  air  as  it  floated 
by,  wiiile  the  ear  was  soothed  by  the  hum  of  bees  and 
the  soniis  of  birds  revelliriLr  in  the  briirht  sunshine. 

Abo\e  the  hedge  appeared  the  tops  of  heavily  laden 
fruit  trees,  brought  from  France  and  planted  by  Talon  : 
Cherries  red  as  the  lips  of  Breton  maidens,  plums  of 
Cascony,  Norman  ajiples,  with  pears  from  the  glorious 
valleys  of  the  Rhone.  The  bending  branches  were  just 
transmuting  their  green  unripeness  into  scarlet,  gold,  and 
purple,  the  imj)erial  colors  of  Nature  when  crowned  for  the 
festival  of  autumn. 

A  lofty  dove  cote,  surmotmted  by  a  glittering  vane, 
turning  and  llashing  with  e\er\- shift  of  the  wind,  stood  near 
the  Chateau.  It  was  the  home  of  a  whole  colony  of  snow- 
white  pigeons,  which  fluttered  in  and  out  of  it,  wheeled  in 
circles  round  the  tall  chinuie\-  stacks,  or  strutted,  cooing 
and  bowing  togxther,  on  the  high  roof  of  the  Chateau,  a 
picture  of  innocence  and  happiness. 

But  neither  haiipiness  nor  innoc:ence  was  suggested  by 
the  look  of  the  Chateau  itself,  as  it  stood  bathed  in  bright 
siuishine.  Its  great  doors  were  close  shut  in  the  face  of 
all  the  beauty  of  the  world  without.    Its  muliioned  windows, 


BEAUMANOIR. 


SI 


e, 
ar 

in 

a 


that  should  have  stood  wide  open  to  let  in  tlie  radiance 
and  freshness  of  mornin  ;.  were  closel\'  blinded,  Hke  eyes 
wickedly  slnit  against  (lod's  hj^hl  that  heat  upon  them, 
vainly  sei-kinjjj  entrance 

( )utsiile  all  was  still,  the  son^  of  birds  and  the  rustle 
of  leaves  alone  met  the  car,  neither  man  nor  beast  was 
stirrin^ijj  to  challenu^e  C'olonel  riiilibcrt's  ap])roac]i  ;  but 
lonj^  ere  he  reached  the  door  of  the  '  "bateau,  a  din  of  \oices 
witliin,  a  wild  medley  of  shouts,  soni;'  and  laughter,  a  clatter 
of  wine  cups,  and  jiealing  notes  of  \iolins  struck  him  with 
amazement  and  disLTUSt.      Me  distiniiuished  drunken  voices 


smirinir   s 


natches    of   bacchanalian    son"! 


s,  wlule    now  an( 


f-«- ' 


then  stentorian  mouths  called  for  fresh  brimmers  and  new 
toasts  were  drunk  with  uj^roarious  applause. 

The  Chateau  seemed  a  \ery  ]">andemonium  of  riot  and 
revelry,  that  proloni^ed  the  nij^ht  into  the  da\',  and  defied 
the  verv  order  of  natine  bv  its  audacious  disrejrard  of  all 
decency  of  time,  i-ijace   and  cireumstance. 

"•  In  (lod's  name,  what  means  all  this,  ^^aster  Pothier  .''' 
exclaimed  I'hilibert,  as  the\'  hastilv  dismoimted,  and  tvins: 
their  horses  to  a  tree,  entered  the  broad  walk  that  led  to 
the  terrace. 


That 


concert  jjomiron.  votu' honor 


,.  5' 


Master  l\)thier 


shook  his  head  to  express  (lisa|)pro\al  and  smiled  to  ex- 
press his  inborn  symj^athy  with  feastiuLj  and  L;()od  fellow- 
ship. "That,  yoiu"  honor,  is  the  heel  of  the  hunt,  the 
hanuinir  un  of  the  antlers  of  the  stau  1)V  the  <:av  chasseurs 


w 


ho  are  visitinu"  the  Intendant. 


"  A  hunting;  part}'  \'ou  mean  ?  To  think  that  men  could 
stand  such  brutishness,  e\en  to  jilease  the  Intendant!" 

"Stand!  yf>ur  honor.  I  wa<;er  ni}' gown  that  most  of 
the  chasseurs  are  lying  under  the  table  by  this  time,  although 
bv  the  ncjise  thev  make,  it  must  be  allowed  there  are  some 
burly  fellows  upon  their  legs  \et,  who  keep  the  wine  flow- 
ing like  the  cow  of  Montmorencv.'' 

"  'Tis  horrible  !  'tis  danuiable  !"  Philibert  grew  pale 
with  passion  and  struck  his  thigh  with  his  palm,  as  was  his 


wont  when  very  angry, 


Riotin"-  in  drimkenness  when  the 


Colony  demands  the  cool  head,  the  strong  aim.  and  the  true 
heart  of  every  man  among  us  !  Oh,  my  country  !  juy  dear 
country  !  what  fate  is  thine  to  expect  when  men  like  these 
are  thv  rulers  t  " 

*'  Your  honor  must  be  a  stranger  in  New  France  or  you 


m 


52  >''^//-'  cnfEX  jroR. 

\v()ul<l  not  I'xpri'ss  such  hasty,  hoiu'si  sc-iitiiiu'iits,  upon  llie 
liileiulant's  liospitalit} .  It  is  not  the-  fashion  except  anionj; 
phiin  spoki.'u //(//vA^z/y  \\h(»  al\\a\s  talk  downri^lit  Norman." 
Master  Polhier  looked  appro\in_i;l\  at  ('oh)nel  rhihhert, 
Avho,  nstenin_:j;  with  indii^nant  ears,  scarcel}'  lu-eded  his 
guide. 

"That  is  a  jolK-  soni;,  vour  honor."  continued  I'othier, 
waiving  one  hand  in  cadence  to  a  <htt}'  in  pr;nse  ot  wine, 
which  a  loud  \-oice  was  In-ard  singing  in  the  C'haie.ui.  ac- 
companied bv  a  rousing  chorus  which  startled  the  \ery 
])igeons  on  the  roof  and  chinuie\-  stacks.  Colonel  I'hiliherl 
recognized  the  song  as  one  he  had  heard  in  the  Quartiir 
yw^////,  during  his  student  life  in  Paris.  1  le  fancied  he  re- 
coirni/ed  the  \oice  also. 

"  I'oiir  (k's  vins  dc  prix 
\'iMi(li)iis  tmis   iKis  li\rc's! 
( "V'st  |)i'U  d'  C'tic  Lji'is 
Amis  S(i\ oils  i\rcs  1 

l!<iii. 
I  a  l-'aiidondaine  I 

( iai. 
J  .a   J'ai  idomk'  ' 


A  roar  of  \()ices  and  a  clash  of  glasses  fnljowed  the  re- 
frain. Master  I'oihiei's  eyes  winked  and  l)linked  in  s)ni- 
patlu'.  Tile  old  notaiA  stood  on  tiptoe,  with  outspread 
palms  as  with  iK\  roiiiiiJiiiii  he  threw  in  a  tew  notes  of  his 
own  to  Idl  up  the  chorus. 

I'hilihrrt  (Msl  upon  his  guide  a  look  of  scorn,  biting  his 
lip  angiil).  "do,"  saifl  he.  "knock  at  the  door — it  needs 
(lod's  thunder  to  bi'eak  in  upon  that  infamous  orgie — sa\' 
that  ("olonel  I'hilibert  brings  orders  from  I  lis  Ivxceiienc)- 
the  (io\ernor  to  the  ('he\alier  lnt(.:ndant." 

'*  And  be  served  with  a  wait  of  ejectmeiu  I  I'ardon  me  ! 
Be  not  angr\'.  sir,"  ])lea(led  I'othier  supplic  itingl\-.  "  I 
dare  not  knock  at  the  door  when  the\'  aie  at  the  devil's 
mass  inside.  'I  he  \alets!  1  know  them  all  I  tiiey  would 
duck  me  in  the  l>rook.  or  drag  me  into  the  hall,  to  make 
sport  for  the  Philistines.  And  1  am  not  much  of  a  .Samson 
your  honor.  I  could  not  pull  the  Chateau  down  upon  tln-'ir 
heads, —  1  wish  1  could  !  " 

Master  Pothier's  fears  did  not  appear  ill  grounded  to 
Philibert  as  a  fresh  burst  of  druid<en  uproai"  assailed  his 
ears.     *' Wail  my  return,"  said  he,  "i  will  knock  on  the 


Tiir.  fXTi.xi'.ixT  niccrr. 


53 


door  myself."  lli-  Ict'l  his  i;iii(lr.  ran  uj)  the  hioad  slono 
stc'|)s,  and  knocked  loudly  upon  the  duor  ,i^,iin  and  ,i<;iiin  ! 
he  tried  it  at  hist,  and  to  iiis  surprise,  found  ii  unhitcheth  he 
]Mished  it  open,  no  sei'vilor  ap]iearinii  to  achnit  him. 
Colonel  I'hilihert  went  boldl)-  in.  A  bla/e  of  ii^ht  almost 
(hiz/.led  his  e\es.  The  ("haieau  was  lit  up  with  janip^  and 
candelabra  in  e\er\-  part.  The  briuhl  ra\s  of  the  ^un  beat 
in  vain  for  admittance  upon  the  closed  doois  .md  blinded 
window.s;  but  the  splendor  of  midnii^hl  oil  perxaded  the 
interior  of  the  stately  mansion,  niakini;  an  arlilicial  ni^h^ 
that  prolonL;(-'d  the  wild  orj. 
hours  of  dav. 


of   the    Intendant   into  the 


(ir.\i'ri:k  \'ir. 


riiK 


IN  I  !•  \1»AN f    I'.Kio'l'. 


tl 


Tmk  ("hale.ui  of  Ileanminoir    had,  sint'e    the   luKcnt   of 
le    Intendant    llii^ol,  been    the   seene    of   m  in\    a    festi\e 


re\elry  that  matcaied  \\\  Ixicchanalian  Irenxy,  the  wild  ori;ies 
of  the  l\.ei;encv.  and  the  present  debaucheries  of  Croisy.  and 
the/r/Z/.v  a/^/^ti//r//i<';i. 


V  Oi 


\ 


ersail 


ies. 


lis  sijiendor.  Us  krxurw 


Us  riotous  leasts  lasinii^'  without  nilermi^sion  sometimes  tor 
days  were  die  themes  of  woiuU-r  and  disi;ust  to  the  unso- 
phisicated  |)eo|)le  of  New  I'VaiUH'.  and  of  endless  comj)ari- 
son  between  ihi-  e.\ira\aiiance  of  the  i"o\m1  Intend  int,  and 
ihe  >imple  manners  and  inllexible  moial^   of   the  ( 'ro\enior 


lenei'a 


The  ;n'reat  hall  of  the  ( 'hduMU.  the  scene  of  the  ^•or^•^.■ous 
feasts  of   the     1  ntendant.  w  a->    brilliantlv   ii'uminated   with 

of  ■^unli^h^   .!>  ilu'\'  hum^ 


lU^e 


h  )|ii' 


mK  er  l.i!np->.  l;1(  i\\  m;, 

Iroiu  ihe  1  )tl\    ceiling',  upon    which    wa-^  p  liiiled  a  ti'e^co  ot 


the  apotlieo^i-,  ol    I,'  mi- 


Xl\' 


W  Del  e 


llie   ( liaud  \b)nai(| 


ue 


IS  surrounded  b\'  a  cloud  ot  ('oU(U'->.  (  Mieaiioi--  and  i!<iur 


w 

bons  of  near  and  moi-i'  reir.ote  consan^uinilx' 

ot  the  room  Iuiiili,  a  lull  length  po|-iraii  ot  the  Mainpiise   de 


.\l  the  head 


ompadour.  the  mislie-^s  ot  I-omi- 


.W 


and  the  hieiid  and 


jiatrone 


if    the    Init-Midani    iJii-oi.    her    bold    \()lu|)tuou~ 


l)eauty  seemed  well  titled  to  be  the  presiding;   genius  of  his 
house.     'I'he  walks   bore   many   other   paintings  ot  urtislic 


54  THE  cm  EX  JXOK. 

and  historic  value.  Tlit'  Kin^' and  Queen  ;  the  dark  eyed 
Montespan  ;  the  crafty  Maintenoii,  and  Mie  piMisJNe  beauty 
of  Louise  de  la  N'aliere,  tlie  (Hily  niistiess  of  Louis  XIV. 
who  loved  him  for  his  own  sake,  and  wiiose  portrait,  (opied 
from  this  ]3ic'lure,  niay  still  he  seen  in  the  Cliapel  of  tlij 
Ursulines  of  (J^uehec,  wliere  the  fair  Louise  is  represented 
as  St.  'riiais  kneelin;;'  at  pra\er  amoni;  liie  nuns. 

The  table  in  the  ;;reat  hall,  a  master|)iece  of  workman- 
ship, was  made  of  a  dark  Canadian  wood  then  lu-wly  intro- 
duced, and  stretched  the  len<;th  of  the  hall.  A  massive  ^old 
epei\ii;ne  t)f  choicest  Italian  art,  the  ^ift  of  La  I'ompadour, 
stood  on  the  centre  of  the  table.  It  represented  liaccluis 
enthroned  on  a  tun  of  wine,  presenting  llowin<;  cups  lo  a 
dance  of  fauns  and  satyrs. 

SiKer  cups  of  N'enetian  sculpture,  and  i;ol:)lcts  of  r.ohc- 
niian  manufacture,  sparkled  liki.'  stars  upon  the  brilliant  table 
- — brimminij:  o\er  with  the  "rold  and  rubv'  \intam'sof  j-'rance 
and  Si)aiii — or  la\'  overturned  amid  jjooIs  of  wine  that  r.m 
down  upon  the  vcKet  carpet.  Dishes  of  I'armesan  cheese, 
ca\  iare  and  other  pro\-ocali\es  to  thirst  stood  upon  the  table, 
amid  \asc'S  of  llowers  and  baskets  of  the  choicest  fruits  of 
the  Antilles. 

Round  this  ma^gnificent  table  sat  a  score  or  more  of 
revellers — in  the  i^^arb  of  i^entiemen.  but  all  in  disorder  and 
soiled  with  wine, — their  countenances  were  inllami-d.  their 
eyes  red  and  liery,  their  tongues  loose  and  lotpiacious. 
Here  and  there  a  N.icant  or  o\erturned  chair  showed  where 
a  guest  had  fallen  in  the  debauch  and  been  carried  off  bv 
the  valets,  who  in  gorgeous  li\eries  waited  on  the  table. 
A  band  of  musicians  sat  up  in  a  gallery  at  the  end  of  the 
hall  and  lilled  the  pauses  of  the  riotous  feast  wilh  the  ra\ish- 
ing  strains  of  Lulli  and  I  )eslouches. 

At  the  head  of  the  table,  fust  in  place  as  in  raidv,  sat 
Franc^ois  Uigol.  Inlendanl  o{  \ew  I'"rance.  His  low,  well- 
set  hguie,  dark  hair,  small  keen  black  eyes  and  swarthy 
features  full  of  lire  and  animation  bespoke  his  (Jascon  l)lood. 
His  countenance  was  far  from  comely — nay,  when  in  re- 
]>ose,  even  ugly  and  repulsi\e, — but  his  eyes  were  magnets 
that  drew  men's  looks  towards  him,  for  in  them  la}-  the  force 
of  a  powerful  will  and  a  depth  aiul  subtlety  of  intellect  that 
made  men  fear,  if  thev  could  not  lo\e  him.  Vet  when  he 
chose — and  it  was  his  usual  mood — to  exercise  his  bland- 
isiunents  on  men,  he  rarely  failed  to  captivate  them,  while 


THE  rXTEXDAXT  niCOT. 


55 


his  plonsant  wit,  courtly  w.iysniul  riatiiial  ij;  illantry  toward!^ 
women,  exercised  with  the  polislied  se<hiciiveiu'ss  he  had 
learned  in  thi-  court  of  J.ouis  XV.,  ukuK-  l'ran(;ois  Hi^ot  ilie 
most  plausible  and  daiiLjcrous  ni.iii  in  \e\v  l''rance. 

He  was  fond  of  wini'  and  music,  passionately  addicted 
to  L^anihlin;;,  and  devoted  to  the  i)leasaut  \'iccs  that  were 
rampant  in  the  (!ourt  of  l-'raiue.  finely  e  Incited,  able  in 
the  conduct  of  affairs,  and  fertile  in  exijedients  to  accoin- 
]-)lish  his  ends,  l-'rancnis  lli^ot  iniLjht  ha\e  sa\ed  New 
France,  had  he  been  hone-^t  as  he  was  (dever  ;  but  he  was 
unprinci|)led  and  corrupt.  No  conscience  checked  his 
ambition  or  his  lo\-e  of  pi  .-;ure.  He  ruined  New  l-'rance 
for  the  sake  of  himself  and  his  patroness,  and  the  crowd  of 
courtiers  and  frail  beauties  who  surrounded  the  kini^,  and 
whose  arts  and  intiuence  kept  him  in  his  liiLjh  ol'tice  despite 
all  the  efforts  of  the  IIonnvtt"<  ii^cns,  the  ^ood  and  true  men 
of  the  Colony,  to  remove  him. 

He  had  alread\-  ruined  and  lost  the  ancient  (Jolony  of 
Acadia,  throu^^h  his  defrauds  and  niah'crsations  as  ("hief 
Commissary  of  the  Army,  and,  instead  of  trial  and  jMinish- 
nieiit,  had  hilely  been  exalted  to  the  higher  and  siill  more 
important  office  of  Royal  Intend, int  of  New  l-'rance. 

On  the  ri_i;lu  of  the  liitendint  sat  his  bosom  friend,  the 
Sieur  Cadet,  alar;;e,  sensual  man,  with  iwinklin  .j  i^rey  eyes, 
thick  nose  and  full  red  lips.  Mis  broad  face,  llushed  with 
wine,  n'lowi  d  like  the  harvest  moon  risini;  above  the  hori/on. 
Cadet  had.  it  was  said,  been  a  butcher  in  ( Vieb  'c.  He 
was  now,  foi"  the  misfortune  of  his  co.ntry.  Chief  Commis- 
sary of  the  Army,  and  a  close  confederate  of  the  Inten 
dant. 

On  the  left  of  the  Intendant  sat  his  secretarv,  I)j  Pean, 
crafty  and  unscrupulous,  a  parasite  too,  who  ll  ittered 
his  master  and  ministered  to  his  pleasures.  Do  Tean  was 
a  military  man  and  not  a  bad  soldier  ia_the  field  ;  but  he 
loved  gain  better  than  i;lory,  and  amassed  an  enormous 
fortune  out  of  the  impoverishnuMit  of  his  countr)'. 

Le  Mercier  too  was  there.  Commandant  of  Artillery,  a 
brave  officer,  but  a  bad  man  ;  V^irin,  a  proud  ai'ro^jant 
libertine.  Commissary  of  Montreal,  who  outdid  Hij^ot  in 
rapine  and  Cadet  in  coarseness  ;  IJe  Jireard,  Comptioller 
of  the  Marine,  a  worthy  associate  of  Penisault,  whose 
pinched  features  and  cunnini^  leer  were  in  keeping  with  his 
important  otitice  of  chief  manager  of  the  Friponne  j  Perrault, 


S6 


'I'/ff:    C////:\  /rOh'. 


1)'  I'.sti'Ix',  Mmii)  and  \  riL;(n-,  all  <  rcatuiL's   of  tho    fnti-Mi- 
(lant.  swi-IIt'd  tin*  roll  ol  iiilainy,  as  |)ailiK'i>  of   the  Ciiaiid 


( 


(iiiii).iii\  III 


^SMCI.llrs    llMilin 


III    New  J'VaiicL'.   as  ihuir 


i-haiUT  named  Hu'iii— tin.'  "(iiaiid  ( "omp  iit\(it  'rhicws," 
as  llu'  |)ro|)lc  in  tlu-ir  jilaiu  Noiiiiaii  i:allcd  du-m,  who  rob- 
bed thcin  in  the  Kiii;;'s  naiuc.  and  under  pretence  of 
maiiitainiiiL;  the  war,  |-a>>ed  the  luo-^i  ai  bit lary  decrees,  the 
only  oj)ji'(f  of  which  was  to  eiiriih  iheinsehes  and  dieir 
iiii^her  patrons  ai  llu;  (.'<iiiil  of  Vi'isailles. 

The  rest  of  the  coinpaiu'  seated  round  the  l,d)le  com- 
prised a  number  of  dissohiie  Seii^iuMii>.  and  i;allaiits  of 
fashion  ai>>iit  lown  -nun  of -real  wants  .ind  L;ri-at  e.Mra- 
\'ai;ance,  jiisi  ihe  class  so  t|uainlly  (Urscribed  l)\'  Charle- 
voix, a  (|uarier  o!  a  century  pre\'ious,  as  "  L'.entlemeii 
lliorou^hb  Versed  in  lluinosi  elcnam  m,(|  ;im|(.(^.^|)|l'  modes 
of  i^pen(Iin^■  money,  bul  L^ieaib  at  a  los^  how  lo  obtain 
it."" 

Amon^;  the  _Ljav  yoiinLC  •'s<'iL;neurs  who  jjad  been  drawn 
into  the  V  ate\  uf  Hindi's  .splendid  dissipation,  was  the 
bra\e,  handsome  [,e  (lardcur  1  )e  Kepeiitii;ii\' — a  ca|)tain 
(if  the  l\.o\al  M  irine,  a  colonial  corj)s  ri'centb'  embodit-d 
at  (Quebec.  In  L:;eneral  form  and  feature  Le  (ranleur  was 
a  manl\  relle.v  of  'ds  be.uilifiil  sister  Amelie  ;  but  his 
countenance  was  marred  with  traces  of  debaucherv.      I  lis 


f; 


ici-   w 


as  intlamed,   and    his  dai'k  eves,  so  like  his  sister' 


b\-  nature  lender  ava\  true,  were  now  irlitterinir  with  the 
adder  tonnues  of  the  cursed  wine  sei"pent. 

Taking  the  cue  from  !>!_:;< it.  Le  Oardeur  resixmded 
madly  to  tlu-  challen_L;^es  to  drink  from  all  around  him. 
Wine  was  now  tloodini^j  e\er_\'  brain,  and  the  table  was  one 
scene  of  riotous  debauch. 

•■  l''ill  up  a'^ain,  LeCiardeurl"  exclaimed  the  Inlendant. 
will)  a  loud  and  still  clear  voice  ;  '"the  l\in,^'  clock  sa\s 
it  is  (la\' — bidid  daw  ii'il  neither  cin'k  (M'ow.s  iior  da\' 
(lawns  in  the  ( 'luileau  ot  lleaumaiK  lir,  s,i\(.'  ,it  iIk'  will  of 
its  masU'i'  ,\\n\  his  merr\' ,i;'uests  !  hill  up,  companions  all! 
The  lamp  liuhl  in  ihe  wine  taip  is  bri_:,luei"  than  ihe  clearest 
>uii  I  hal  e\  er  sIk  me  ! 

■•  I'lMuo  iJi^ot  I  name  \dur  toast,  and  we  will  jjledi^e 
it    lill    llu-   se\en    stars  count    fourteen  I  "   replied    l.e   Clar- 


(liaii 


lOOIC 


inn'  la/ily  at  llie  ^leat   clock  in  Ihe  hal 


I 


see 


lour  clocks  in  the  room,  and  e\eiy   one   ol    them    lies   if  it 
sa\  s  ii  is  dav  !  " 


riiE  /.\  TExnAXT  nrcoT, 


57 


"\V)ii  ;iic  incndiii^j.  Li-  (rardcur  Do  Ivrpciitii^'iiv  I  \'()H 
arc  worthy  to  l)fl(»n;;'  to  the  (iiand  ( 'oiii|)any  I  I'lUt  you 
shall  haw  mi\  l(?asl.  Wi*  ha\c  dianU  it  tsvcni)  times 
already,  but  it  will  stand  drinkiiiLj  twenty  times  nioie,  It 
is  the  best  prologue  to  wine  ever  devisi-d  by  wit  of  man 
— a  woman — " 

'•.And  the  best  ei)il(),<^ue,  too,  Miijtil  1  "'  interjected 
\' irin.  visibly  drunk  ;  "  but  let  us  have  the  toast — my  cu[) 
i-^  waiting-." 

'•  W'l'll.  till  up  all,  then  ;  and  we  will  drink  the  health, 
wealth,  and  l<)\'c  by  sti;allh,  of  the  jolliesl  dame  in  sunny 
l""ranee— the  Marc|uise  de  I'onipadoiir !  " 

'•  I,a  I'ompadoui' I  I ,  i  l*on\padoiu' !  ""  I'A'cry  tfMiijne 
n-jK-ated  the  name,  the  ^obU'ls  wei'e  draini-d  to  the  bot- 
toms, and  a  thunder  of  applause  and  elatlerinLC  <>f  .^lasses 
followed  the  toast  of  the  mistress  of  I/)ui>  \'\'.,  who  was 
the  spetial  proteelress  of  the  (irand  C'oinp.nn  - -a  ^itodlv 
share  of  whose  prolit^  in  the  monopoh'  of  trade  in  \ew 
I'Vanci"  was  thrown  into  the  lap  of  the  jxiwi-rful   favoritt*. 

■*  (.■(tme,  \'arin  I  \oiirturn  now!"  cried  lli^ol.  tinning; 
to  the  ('onunissar\  ;  "a  toast  for  \'ille  M  iiie  !  Merry 
Monti  eal  I  where  the\'  eat  like  rats  of  I'oitou,  and  drink  till 
ihey  riuLj  the  tire  bells,  as  the  liordelais  did  to  weU-ome 
the  collectors  of  the  i;al)elle.  The  .Nfonirt-alers  ha\e  not 
run.iLi  I'lc'  lire  bells  yet  a,i;ainsl  )ou.  X'arin.  but  the)'   will    by 


n 


and  by!" 

V'ai'in  tilled  his  cup  with  an  unsleadv  hand  until  it  ra 
o\'er.  and.  |M"oppinL,^  his  bovU'  aL;'ainst  the  table  as  he  stood 
up.  re-plied  :  "  A  toast  for  \'ille  Nfai'ie  !  and  our  friends  in 
need  I — tlu-  blue  caps  of  the  kiehelieu  !  '"  I'his  was  in 
allusion  to  a  recent  ordinance  of  the  Intendant.  authorizing;; 
him  to  si'i/e  all  llu'  corn  in  store  at  Montreal  ami  in  the 
surroundin^C    coi'ntr\- — under    pretence 


t  suppb  nin  the 
arm\".  and  really  to  sei'nre  the  nioiiopoK  of  it  loi-  the  (Irand 
( 'omi)  ui\." 


he  toast  was  d'link  annd  ra|)turous  applau-e. 


W 


said.  X'arin  I '"  cxclainH'd  l>i;;-ot  :  "that  loasi  implied  both 
bnsiness  and  |)leasure  -the  business  was  to  swee|)  out  the 
Ljram^es  of  the  farmers:  the  pleasnre  is  to  drink  in  honor 
')f 


ot  vour  success. 


Mv  f 


oraLiers  swec 


p  cl 


can 


sail 


1  \ 


irin,  resuimnii"  his 


seat,    and    looking-    under    his    l.iand    to    steadv    his    ;;aze 


IJelter    brooms    w 


e  I  e 


ne\er    made    ni 


'.esanc.)n. 


Tl 


le 


l(ll 


58  THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 

country  is  swept  as  clean  as  a  ball  room.  Your  F.xrcl- 
Iciicy  and  tiic  Mar(|uisc  nui;lit  lead  ihc  dance  over  it,  and 
not  a  straw  lie  in  your  way  !  " 

"And  (lid  y(tu  niana<;e  it  without  a  fiLjlU,  Varin  ? " 
asked  the  Sieur  d'l*'slebe,  with  a  half  sneer. 

"  M;;ht !  Why  fi-^hl  ?  The  hahitiins  will  never  resist 
the  Kind's  name.  We  conjure  the  (lc\il  down  with  th.ii. 
When  we  skin  our  eels  we  don't  be<;in  at  the  tail  !  If  we 
did    the  luihitans  would  be  like  the    eels  of    Mclun — cry 


I  bef( 


ore  tnev  w 


}• 


•re   hurt.     No!   no!  {riv-.tebe  I     We  are 


ou 

more  jjolile  in  Ville  .Xfarie.  We  tell  tlieni  the  Rini^'s 
trof)ps  need  the  corn.  'I'hey  doff  their  cai)s,  and,  with 
tears  in  their  eyes,  say,  "  ^Ionsieur  \.q.  Comniissaire,  the 
Kinj;  can  have  all  we  possess,  and  ourselves  too.  if  he  will 
onl\-  save  Canada  from  the  iJostonnais,  This  is  better  than 
slealinj;  the  honey  and  killing  the  bees  that  made  it, 
d'Kstcbel" 

"Jkit  what  became  of  the  families  of  the  hahitam^  after 
this  swoop  of  your  forai^eis  ?  "  asked  the  Seigneur  De 
JJeauce,  a  countr\'  gentleman  who  retained  a  few  honor- 
able ideas  (loating  on  to[^  of  the  wine  he  had  swallowed. 

"  ( )li  I  the  families — thai  is,  the  women  and  children, 
for  we  took  the  men  for  the  army.  Vou  see,  De  Heauce," 
replied  Vai'iii,  with  a  mocking  air,  as  he  crossed  his  thumbs 
like  a  peasant  of  Languedoc  when  he  wishes  to  inspire 
bi'lief  in  his  words,  "  the  families  have  to  do  what  the 
gentlemen  of  Heauce  practise  in  limes  of  scarcity — break- 
fast by  gaping !  or  they  can  eat  wind  like  the  people  of 
Poitou.      it  will  make  them  spit  c'ean  !  " 

1  )e  Heauce  was  irritated  at  the  mocking  sign  and  the 
pro\eii)ial  allusion  to  the  gaping  of  the  people  of  Beauce. 
He  started  U[)  in  wrath,  and  striking  his  tist  on  the 
table, 

*'  Monsieur  \'arin  I  "  cried  he,  "  do  not  cross  \'our 
thumbs  at  me.  or  1  will  cut  them  off!  Let  me  tell  vou  the 
gentlemen  of  l>eauce  do  not  breakfast  on  gaping,  but  have 
plenty  of  corn  to  stuff  even  a  Commissary  of  Montreal  !  " 

The  Sieur  Le  Mercier,  at  a  sign  from  ijigf)t,  interposed 
to  stop  the  rising  quarrel.  "  Don't  mind  Varin,"  said  he, 
whispering  to  De  Heauce  ;  ''he  is  drunk,  and  a  row  will 
anger  the  iiitendant.  Wait,  and  by  and  by  you  shall  toast 
Varin  as  the  chief  baker  of  Pharoah,  who  got  hanged 
because  he  stole  the  Kin":'s  corn." 


'1' 


THE  LYTEXDAiYT  BIGOT. 


59 


"  As  he  deserves  to  be  for  Ills  insult  to  the  pjeiitlnnen 
of  IJeauce,"  insimiatecl  I'.iii^ot,  leaniiiLC  over  to  his  an;4;ry 
finest,  at  tile  same  time  \vinkiM<;  f^ood  liiimorL-dly  to  \'arin. 
•*  C'ome  MOW,  l)e  IJeauce.  friends  \\\--am  tiitiiiin  ira\  s^wx 
know,  which  is  haliii  for  love — and  1  will  sinj;  you  a  stave 
in  praise  of  this  <;ood  wine,  which  is  heller  than  llacchiis 
ever  drank."  'I"he  inlendant  rose  up,  and  holding-  a  hrim- 
mini;  ^dass  in  his  hand,  ciianted  in  full  nuisical  voice  a 
favorite  ditty  of  the  day  as  a  ready  mode  of  restoring  har- 
mony among  the  company  : — 


'Amis!  dans  nui  iMnitcillc, 
Vi)il,i  k'  viii  (11-  Fnincc  ! 
Cost  Ic  i)()n  viii  fjiii  dansc  ici, 
C'cst  Ic  boil  viii  {|ui  clause. 

Oai  Ion  la  ! 

\'iv(j  la  lirc'ttc  ! 

DcH  Fillcttcs 


II  V 


en  aura 


"  Vivcut  h's  Fillcttcs !  The  girls  of  Quebec  ? — first  in  beauty 
last  in  love,  and  nowhere  in  scoi-n  ol  a  gallant  worthy 
of  them  !  "  continued  IJigot.  ''What  say  you,  1  )e  Pean  ? 
Are  you  not  i)repared  to  loast  the  belles  of  (Quebec?  " 


'I'hal    I    am,   Nour   IvKcellencv ! 


I)e    1 


i-an  was  un- 
steady upon  his  feet  as  he  rose  to  respond  to  the  Intt-iulant's 
challenge.  He  pot-valianti)'  drew  his  sword  and  laid  it  on 
the  table.  "1  will  call  on  tlie  honorable  company  to  drink 
this  toast  upon  their  knees,  and  there  is  my  sword  to  cut  the 
legs  off  any  gentleman  who  will  not  knerl  down  atid  diink 
a  full  cui)  to  the   briirlit  e\-es  of  the  belle  of  (  hubec — the 


incom]xu"al)le  Angeliciue  des  Meloises 


The  toast  suited  their  mooc 


1.      1 


'^\'er\'  one 


fill 


ed   up  lus 


cup  in  honor  (;f  a  be;uUy  so  universally  admired. 

"  Kneel  down  all  !  "  cried  the  Intendant,  "or  I)e  I'eau 

All  knelt  down   with   a  clash — some 

ill  driid<  to  the 


will  hamstrmir  us 


)f  th 


em   unable    to    rise  a<rain. 


W 


e    w 


LnLTL'licuie  charms  of  the  fair  Des  NTeloises.     Come 


now. 


all  together ! — as  the  jolly  Dutchmen  of  Albany  say,  "  Upp 
scys  over  I'' 

Such  of  the  company  as  were  able,  resumed  their  seats 
amid  great  laughter  and  confusion.  When  the  Sieur 
Deschenaux,  a  reckless  young  gallant,  abla/e  with  wine 
and 
finiiers  dabbled  in  his  wine  cup  as  he  addressed  them,  but 


excitement,  stood   up,   leaning  against  the    table,    his 


he  did  not  notice  it. 


6o 


rnr.  cmr.x  iroR 


"  \Vc  have  drank  uiih  all  tin-  hoi: 


oi's. 


m 


11 


■■(1  he,  "  to  the 


briLrhl  eves  of  the  belle  of  ( )iitl)e(\  I  call  on  exer'v  srentle- 
iiiaii  now,  to  drink  to  the  still  hiinhter  e_\\s  of  the  belle  of 
New  France  !  " 


''  W 
voices  ; 


no    IS    she 


Xai 


lie 


iMnie 


shouted    a    doze 


n 


who  is  the  bc-ile  of  New   I'Vance? 


lo    is    she 


W 


U'.     w 


ho   can    she  be  but  the   fair 


Anii;eli([iie  whom  we  have  just  honored?"  I'eplied  I  )e  I'ean 
holly,  jealous  of  any  precedence  in  that   ([uarter. 

"Tut!'"  cried  Deschenaux.  '"  vou  ((Jinpare  ^low  worms 
A\ith  ex'eniuii;  stars  when  you  pretend  to  match  AiiL^eliciue 
J)es  Meloises  with  the  lady  1  ])ro|jo.se  lohonorl  I  call 
for  full  hiimmers — Cardinal's  hats  I — in  honor  of  the  belle 
of  New  l''rance — the  fair  Amt-lie  I  )e    Ri-peiniuny  1  " 

\x-  (/ardeur  de  Kepentiii;n\'  was  >iitin^  umumil;  on  his 
ell)ow.  his  face  l)eamini;"  with  jollitv  as  he  waiied.  with  a 
full  cup.  foi- I  )es(-henau.\'s  toast.  \\\\\  rxt  sonner  did  he  hear 
the  name  of  his  sister  from  those  lips  than  he  sprang'  up 
as  though  a  siapent  had  bit  him.  lie  hmU'd  his  L;(>l)let  at 
the  head  of  I  )eschenau\.  with  a  lleice  imprecation  and  diew 
his  sword  as  he  mshed  towards  him. 

•'A  thousand  lii;htnin^s  strike  }(ni  !  llow  dare  you 
])ollute  that  holy  name,  Deschenaux.'  Ketract  that  toast  in- 
siaiub',  or  \ou  shall  drink  it  in  blood  : — letract.  1  say!" 

'['lie  quests  lose  to  their  fee't  in  terrible  uproar.  Lc 
(laitleur  strun^led  \i<ilemly  to  break  lhrouu,h  a  number  of 
thcjse  who  iiUerposed  between  him  and  I  )esciienaii\,  wIk), 
roused  to  frenz\-  b\-  the  insult  fiom  Le  Ciardiur.  had  also 
diawn  !iis  sword  and  >tood  read\  to  reiei\e  the  assault  of 
his  antagonist. 

The  intendant.  whost  couraLi'i.'  and  preseixt;  of  mind 
ne\ei  forsook  him.  pulled  1  )eschenau.\  dow  n  up^n  his  seat 
and  held  fast  his  sw(»r(l  aim.  vhouiin^   m  his  ear: 

".\ie  \')U  m.id.  I  )escluai  m\  ?  \  oil  knew  -.he  was  his 
sister,  and  ho'.\  lu'  '..orships  her!  keiract  ilielnasi  -it  was 
ino|)poiume  !  Ilesides.  ree< 'Meet,  w  e  want  to  win  it\er  I  )c 
Repent  i'4ii\'  to  t  lu'  ( Iraiu  i  (  'oiiipan\  !  " 

1  )esehenan\  sliuiiLiled  toi'  a  minute,  but  the  iiilhieiice  nf 
tin-  1  nteiidant  was  all  powerful  o\er  liim.  1  It- ^av  e  wa\-. 
•'haiim  I  )e  Kepeiiliuny."  said  he.  '"  I  only  meant  to  (lo 
honor  to  the  |)iett\'  witih.  Who  would  ha\'e  e.\pecled  him 
to  take  it  lip  in  that  mamu'r ?  " 

■•  \\\\  one  whii    knows    him  !     besides,"  continued    the 


lllli  IXrr.XDAXT  IWCOT. 


6i 


of 
K), 
>() 
of 

lul 
•aL 

lis 

IS 

)c 

of 
\'. 

io 


Intendant.  "  If  }-ou  nuist  toast  his  sistt-r.  wait  till  wo  j;et 
him  body  and  soul  niadi.-  oxer  to  thr  Cirand  ( 'oiiipany,  and 
tlicn  lie  will  cart.'  no  nioic  for  his  sister's  fame  than  you 
do  for  youis." 

"  Hut  the  insult  I  He  !ias  ch'awn  hlood  wiiii  the  ,u,ol)- 
Ict,"  said  Dcschenaux,  w,,)in;^  his  forehead  witli  his  fmL;ers. 
'*  1  cannot  ])ar(lon  that  !  "' 

'•  Tut,  tut  ;  t'l^ht  him  another  day.  lUu  you  shall  not 
flight  here  I  Cailet  and  Ta;  Mercier  ha\'i'  pinned  the  youu'^ 
llavard,  ]  see  :  so  vou  ha\e  a  chanee  t<i  do  iIk-  honorable, 
Deschenaux.  j;o  lo  him,  retract  ihe  toast  and  say  xou  had 
forijoitcn  the  fair  ladv  was  his  sister." 

Desciienau.x  swallowed  his  wrath,  rose  up  and  she:itlu'd 
his  sword.  'I'akinL;'  the  Intendant  by  the  aim  he  went  up 
to  Le  (iardeiu".  who  was  still  tryiuL^  to  adxance.  Desche- 
naux  held  up  liis  hand  (lepreca(in_i;l\ ,  "  \a-  (lardeur.""  said 
he.  with  an  air  of  apparent  contrition.  "  1  w.is  wron:;,-  to  of- 
fer that  toast.  1  had  fori^otten  the  fair  Iad\"  was  xoiu'  sis- 
ter. 1  retract  the  toast,  since  it  is  disa^'reeable  to  you,  al- 
though .dl  would  ha\i'  been  proud  to  drink  it." 

Le  (lardeau  was  as  hard  to  appi-ase  as  lie  was  im-,\-  to 
excite  to  anL;er.  lie  still  held  his  drawn  sword  in  his 
hand. 

■'("omc!"  cried  r>in()t.  "sou  are  as  hard  to  please  as 
\'illiers  Waidome.  w  honi  the  kini;'  himself  could  not  satisf\. 
I  )eschenaux  sa\  s  he  is  sorr\ .  A  ^e:.tieman  cannot  say 
UKjre.      So  sh.ii<e'  h.mds  and  be  friend^,  i  )c  Kepenti^n}." 

Impervious  to  threats  and  often  to  reason.  Ia;  (Jardeur 
could  not  resist  an  appeal  to  his  j^enerosit\'. 

lie  sheathed  his  sword  and  held  out  his  hand  with 
frank  fori^ixeness.  '*  \'()iu' apoloL;\-  is  ample.  Sieur  Desche- 
iiaux.  I  am  satisfied  you  meant  no  alTront  to  my  sister  !  It 
is  m\'  weak  point,  .Messieurs."  continued  he.  lo okim^  firmly 
at  the  compan)-.  ready  to  break  out  had  lu'  detccied  the 
shadowof  a  sni-er  u|)on  an\'  oik''s  countenance.  "  1  honor 
Jier  as  1  (V^i  the  (pieen  of  Ilea\en.  Neither  of  their  names 
ou>j;ht  to  be  spoken  heie." 

"Well  said  1  Le  (iardeur."  ex(-laime(l  the  Intendant. 
"That's  riL;iit.  shake  hands  and  be  friends  airain.  l!lessi-d 
are  ciuarrels  lli.it    lead    to    reconcili.uion,  and    die  washiriLf 


out  of 


feud- 


ni  wine. 


ake  vnu'  seats,  uentlemeii. 


There  was  a  |Li,eneral  scramble  back  to  the  table.     JJij^ot 
stood  up  in  itaiewed  Ojrce. 


!        i 


i.  I 


I   ! 


! 


62 


r//E  CHIEiV  noR. 


"Valets  !  "  cried  he,  "brin<^  in  n  j.v  the  largest  cups  ! 
We  will  chink  a  toast  five  faliionis  deep,  in  water  of  life — • 
strong  enough  to  melt  ('leopatra's  pearls,  and  to  a  jollier 
dame  than  I'>gypt's  quec:i.  Wwi  first  we  will  make  Le  Gar- 
deur  I)e  Rept-'iitigny  free  of  thc!  guild  of  noble  partners  of 
the  company  of  adxenlurers  trading  in  New  I"'rance." 

'I'he  valets  flew  in  and  out.  In  a  few  moments  the  table 
was  replenished  with  huge  drinking  cups,  silver  fiagons, 
and  all  liie  heavy  impedimenta  of  the  army  of  Bacchus. 

"  You  are  willing  to  become  one  of  us,  and  enter  the 
jolly  guild  of  the  Grand  Company  ?  "  exclaimed  the  In- 
tendant,  taking  Le  Gardeur  by  the  hand. 

'■  Yes,  I  am  a  stranger  and  you  may  take  me  in.  I 
claim  admission,"  replied  T^e  Gardeur  with  drunken  gravi- 
ty, "  and  by  St.  Figot,  I  will  be  true  to  the  guild  !  " 

Jiigot  kissed  iiim  on  both  ciieeks.  "  Jjy  the  l)oot  of 
St.  Benoit,  you  speak  like  the  king  of  Yvelot.  Le  Gar- 
deur (le  Repentigny,  you  are  fit  to  wear  fur  in  the  Court  of 
Burgundy." 

"  You  can  measure  my  foot,  Bigot,"  re])lied  Le  Gar- 
deur "  and  satisfy  the  company  that  I  am  able  to  wear  the 
boot  of  St.  Ik'noit." 

"  I)y  jolly  St.  Chinon,  and  you  shall  wear  it,  Le  Gar- 
deur," exclaimed  Bigot,  handing  him  a  cpiart  flag()n  of 
wine,  which  Le  Gardeur  drank  without  drawing  breath. 
"That  boot  fits,"  shouted  the  Intendant  exultinirlv :  "now 
for  the  chant !  1  will  lead.  Stop  the  breath  of  anyone 
who  will  not  join  in  tiie  chorus." 

'J'iie  Intendant  in  </reat  \oice  led  off  a  macaronic  verse 
of  Moliere.  that  had  often  made  merry  the  orgies  of  Ver- 
sailles:— 

"  Bene,  liene,  l)cnc,  respondere  I 
Digmis,  di!:;;a2nus  es,  cntrarc 
In  nostro  krto  corpore  !  " 

A  tintamarre  of  voices,  and  a  jingle  of  glasses  accom- 
panied the  violins  and  tambours  de  basque,  as  the  com- 
pany stood  up  and  sang  the  song,  winding  up  with  a  grand 
burst  at  the  chorus  : — 

"  Vivat !  vivat !  vivat !  cent  fois  vivat ! 
Ndvus  socius  qui  tarn  I)cne  parlat! 
Millc  niillc  aunis  et  niangct  ct  bibat, 
PVipet  et  friponnat !  " 


THE  INTEXDANT  BIGOT. 


63 


H;incls  were  shaken  all  round,  con2;ratu]ations,  em- 
bracin<j;s  and  filthy  kisses  showered  upon  Le  (iardeur  to 
honor  his  admission  as  a  partner  of  the  Grand  Company. 

"And  now,"  continued  lii^ot,  "we  will  drink  a  draught 
lono^  as  the  bell  rope  of  Notre  Dame.  Fill  up  brinnners 
of  the  quintessence  of  the  grape,  and  drain  them  dry  in 
honor  of  the    l'"ri])onne  !  " 

The  name  was  electric.  It  was  in  the  country  a  word 
of  opprobrium,  but  at  i>eaumanoir  it  was  laughed  at  with 
true  Gallic  nonchalance.  Indeed,  to  show  tlieir  scorn 
of  public  opinion,  the  Grand  Comi)any  liad  lately  launched 
a  new  ship  upon  the  great  lakes  to  carry  on  the  fur  trade, 
and  had  appropriately  and  mockingly  named  her,  '^  La  Fri- 

"Let  them  laugh  that  win!"  said  TJigot  one  day  to 
D'Kstebe,  who  was  in  a  rage  at  ha\ing  heard  the  hateful 
e])ithet  used  l)y  a  plain  spoken  liabitaii.  "  We  accept  the 
name  and  can  withstand  the  blame.  If  they  say  more 
I  will  paint  it  in  letters  a  yard  long  upon  the  front  of  the 
Palais,  and  make  it  the  horn  bof)k  from  which  the  rustics 
shall  take  their  first  lesson  in  reading  and  spelling." 

The  toast  of  the /'>7/^w//6'.'  was  drunk  with  applause, 
followed  bv  a  wild  I'acchanalian  song — 

The  Sieur  Morin  had  been  a  merchant  in  Bordeaux 
whose  bond  was  held  in  as  little  value  as  his  word.  He 
had  latelv  removed  to  New  France,  transferred  the  bulk  of 
his  merchandize  to  the  Friponne,  and  become  an  active 
agent  of  the  Grand  Company. 

"  La  Friponne  !  ""  cried  he,  "  I  have  drunk  success  to 
her  with  all  m\-  heart  and  throat.  But  I  say  she  will  never 
wear  a  night-cap  and  sleep  quietly  in  our  arms,  until  we 
muzzle  the  Golden  Dog,  that  barks  by  night  and  by  day  in 
the  Rue  Iiuade." 

"That  is  true,  Morin!"  interrupted  Varin,  roused  to 
wrath  at  the  mention  of  the  Golden  Dog.  "The  grand 
company  will  never  know  peace  until  we  send  the  bour- 
geois, his  master,  back  to  the  Pastille.  The  Golden  Dog 
is—." 

"  Damn  the  Golden  Dog!"  exclaimed  Bigot,  passion- 
ately. "  Why  do  you  utter  his  name,  V^irin,  to  sour  our 
wine?     I  hope  one  day  to   pull  down   the    Dog,  as  well  as 


the  whole  kennel   of  the   insolent   Hourireoi; 


Tl 


len,  as 


was  his  wont,  concealing  his  feelings    under   a   mocking 


64 


■Jllii  ClflEX  DOR. 


gibr,  *'  Varin."  said  he,  "  they  say  that  is  your  marrow  bone 
iht.' (loldcn  I)o_u;is  LjnawinL;,  Iial   ha  I   ha  I  " 

"  More  |)eo|)le  believe  it  is  your  Ivvcclleiicy's  !  "  Varin 
kiu'w  he  was  ri^hl,  bul  aware  of  I'ii^oi's  touchiness  on  lh;vt 
jioint,  added,  as  is  the  wont  of  jiandeicrs  to  _L;reai  men  :  "  It 
is  either  yours  or  the  Car(h'nar>." 

"  Let  it  be  the  ("arcbnal's,  then  !  He  is  still  in  puri^a- 
tory,  and  will  wail  there  the  arri\al  of  the  bourgeois,  to  bal- 
ance accounts  with  him."' 

Hife;ot  hated  the  l)'iur_L:;eois  I'hilibeit  as  one  hates  the 
man  he  has  injured.  iSiij^ot  had  been  instrumrnlal  in  his 
l)anisbmeni  vears  a;j;o  from  I'rancc-.  when  the  bold  Norman 
("ount    defended   the   persecuted  Jansenisis    in  the  Parlia- 


ment or  Kouen.  I  he  hUendant  liated  linn  now  loi  Ins 
wealth  and  [prosperity  in  New  I"'rance.  Hit  his  wrath  tunu;d 
to  fci!\"  when  he  saw  (he  tablet  of  the  (iolden  1  )o^,  witii  il.s 
tavintin^^^  in>c!iption.  ,L;]arinj;"  upon  the  front  of  the  Mai;a- 
zine  in  the  Kue  i!ua(k-.  lliij;ot  felt  the  full  meaniuLj  and 
sii^nilicance  of  the  words  that  burned  into  his  soul,  and 
for  which  he  hoped  one  (l:iv  to  be  re\eni;ed. 

■■  ( 'onfusioii  to  the  whole  litter  of  the-  CJolden  Do^, 
and  that  is  the  ])arty  of  the  //o/i/if/rs  ,i;r)is .' "  cried  he. 
"  liut  for  that  canliuL;'  saxani,  who  plus  the  (Governor  here, 
I  would  |)ull  diiwii  the  s'v^w  and  han;^  its  master  up  in  its 
stead  lo-niorrow  !  " 

i'he  compan\  now  sjjrew  still  more  hilarious  and  ntisy 
in  their  cups.  I''ew  paid  attention  to  what  the  Inlendant 
was  savin^i^.  P)Ut  I  )e  l\.epentiu;n}' heard  him  utter  the  words  : 
'•  Oh,  for  men  who  dare  do  num's  deeds  I  "  He  cau^'ht  the 
eve  of  I  )e  ive|)i'nli;j;ny  and  added.  "  but  wc;  area!!  cowards 
in  the  (Irand  (Jompanw  and  are  afraid  of  the  BjurLjcois." 

The  wine  was  bubbliiv.;"  in  the  brain  of  Le  (}  irdeur. 
He  scircidy  knew  what  the  Intendatit  said,  but  he  cau;;ht 
ihi-  last  words. 

•'  W'hou)  do  \'ou  call  cowards.  Chevalier?  1  have  joiu- 
ed  the  Orand  Company,  if  the  rest  are  cowards.  1  am  not  ! 
1  stand  read}  to  j^luck  the  perruque  off  the  head  of  any 
man  in  New  P'rance.  and  carry  it  on  my  sword  to  the  Place 
dWrnies,  where  I  will  challen_L;e  all  the  worid  to  come  and 
take  it." 

"  i'ish  !  that  is  nothini;'  !  L;ive  me  man's  work.  I  want 
to  see  the  partner  in  the  Grand  Company  wluj  dare  pidl 
down  the  Golden  Do;r." 


t.      i 


I 


THE  lATE.VDAiVT BIGOT. 


«s 


ht 

U  ! 
n.y 

ind 

|nt 
ill 


"  I  dare  !  and  I  dare  !  "  exclaimed  a  dozen  voices  at 
once  in  response  to  the  apjjeal  of  tlie  Intendant,  who  craft- 
ily meant  his  challenj;e  to  ensnare  only  Le  Gardcmr. 

"And  1  dare  ;  and  I  will  too  !  if  you  wish  it,  Cheva- 
lier !  "  shouted  Le  Gardeur,  mad  with  wine  and  quite  ob- 
livious of  the  tliousand  claims  of  the  father  of  his  friend 
Pierre  Philibert  upon  him. 

"  I  take  you  at  your  word,  Le  Gardeur  !  and  bind  your 
honor  to  't  in  the  presence  of  all  these  gentlemen,"  said 
Bigot  with  a  look  of  intense  satisfaction. 

"When  shall  it  be  done — to  day?  "  Le  Gardeur  seem- 
ed ready  to  jDluck  the  moon  from  the  sky  in  his  present 
state  of  ecstasy. 

"  Why  no,  not  to-day  ! — not  before  the  pear  is  ripe  will 
we  pluck  it.     Your  word  of  honor  will  keep  till  then  ?  " 

Bigot  was  in  great  glee  over  the  success  of  his  strata- 
gem to  entrap  De  Re})entigny. 

"  It  will  keep  a  thousand  years  !  "  replied  Le  Gardeur, 
amid  a  fresh  outburst  of  merriment  round  the  boatd  which 
culminated  in  a  shameless  song,  fit  only  for  a  revel  of 
satyrs. 

The  Sieur  Cadet  lolled  lazily  in  his  chair,  his  eyes 
blinking  with  a  sleepy  leer.  "We  are  getting  stupidly 
drunk,  liigot,"  said  he  :  "  we  want  something  new  to  rouse 
us  all  to  fresh  life.     Will  you  let  me  oiler  a  toast?  " 

"  Go  on,  Cadet !  olifer  what  toast  you  please.  There 
is  nothing  in  heaven,  hell,  or  upon  earth  that  I  wont  drink 
to  for  your  sake." 

"  1  want  you  to  drink  it  on  your  knees,  Bigot !  pledge 
me  that  and  iill  your  biggest  cup." 

"We  will  drink  it  on  all  fours  if  you  like!  come,  out 
with  your  toast,  Cadet  ;  you  are  as  long  over  it  as  Father 
Glapion's  sermon  in  Lent  !  and  it  will  l)e  as  interesting  I 
dare  say !  " 

"  Well,  Chevalier,  the  Grand  Company,  after  toasting  all 
the  beauties  of  (Quebec,  desire  to  drink  the  health  of  the 
fair  mistress  of  Jkaumanoir,  and  in  her  presence  tcjo! " 
said  Cadet  with  owiisii  gravity. 

Bigot  startetl,  drunk  and  reckless  as  he  was,  \\c  did  not 
like  his  secret  to  be  divulged.  He  was  angrv  with  Cadet 
for  referring  to  it  in  the  presence  of  so  main  who  knew 
not  that  a  stran<re  ladv  was  residiiiij;  at  Beaumanoir.  He 
was    too    thoroughly  a  libertine  of  the   period  to  feel    any 

5 


(r 


Ml 


66 


THE  cm  EX  D'OR. 


moral  compunction  for  any  excess  he  committed.  He  was 
habitually  more  ready  to  j^lor}'  over  his  conciuests,  than  to 
deny  or  extenuate  them.  I'ut  in  this  case  he  had,  to  the 
surprise  of  Cadet,  been  very  reticent  and  shy  of  speaking 
of  this  lady  even  to  him. 

'•'i'hev  sav  she  is  a  miracle  of  beaut\',  IJiirot!  "  contin- 
lied  Cadet,  "and  th.at  you  are  so  jealous  of  the  charms  of 
your  belle  Gabrielle,  that  you  are  afraid  to  show  her  to 
your  best  friends." 

"My  belle  Cabrielle,  is  at  liberty  to  ^o  where  she 
pleases.  Cadet  !  "  JJigot  saw  the  absurdit}'  of  anther,  but 
he  felt  it  nevertheless.  '•  She  chooses  not  to  leave  her 
bovver,  to  look  even  on  you,  Cadet  !  I  warrant  you  she 
has  not  slept  all  ni;^du-,  listening  to  your  infernal  din." 

"Then,  I  hope  you  will  allow  us  to  go  and  beg  pardon 
on  our  knees  for  disturbing  her  res^  W'hat  sa}'  the  good 
company  ?  " 

"  Agreed,  agreed  !  "  was  the  general  response,  and  all 
pressed  the  Intendant  vociferously  to  allow  them  to  see  the 
fair  mistress  of  ISeaumanoir,  about  whose  Ijeauty  so  much 
had  been  privately  talked  among  Bigot's  intimate  asso- 
ciates. 

X^irin,  however,  proposed  that  she  should  be  brought 
into  the  hall.  "Send  her  to  us,  C)  King,"  cried  he,  "we 
are  nobles  of  Persia,  and  this  is  Shusiian  the  palace,  where 
we  carouse  according  to  the  law  of  the  ^^edes,  seven  days 
at  a  stretch.  Let  tlie  king  bring  in  Queen  Vashti,  to  sIk^w 
her  beauty  to  the  princes  and  n(jbles  of  his  court !  " 

liigot,  too  full  of  wine  to  weigh  scruples,  yielded  to  the 
wish  of  his  boon  companions.  He  rose  from  his  chair 
which  in  his  absence  was  taken  by  C'adet.  "  Mind  !"  said 
he,  "  if  I  bring  her  in,  you  shall  show  her  every  resjiect." 

"  We  will  kiss  the  dust  of  her  feet,"  answered  Cadet, 
"and  consider  vou  the  ^j^reatest  kinir  of  a  feast  in  New 
France  or  Old." 

Bigot,  without  further  parley  passed  out  of  the  hall, 
traversed  a  long  corridor  and  entered  an  anteroom  where 
he  found  Dame  'rreml)lay,  the  old  house  keeper,  dozing  on 
her  chair.  He  roused  her  up  and  bade  her  go  to  the  inner 
chamber  to  summon  her  mistress. 

The  house-keeper  rose  in  a  moment  at  the  voice  of  the 
Intendant,  She  was  a  comelv  dame,  with  a  rudd)-  cheek, 
and  an  eye   in   her  head   that    looked    inquisitively  at  her 


^1 

''I 


CAROLixE  /)/■:  sr.  cAsr/x. 


67 


master,  as  she  arranged  her  cap,  ami  thrt;\v  l^ack  her  rather 
gay  ril)l")(>ns. 

"  1  want  your  mistress  up  in  the  great  hall  !  go  sum- 
mon her  at  once."  repeated  the  Inleiidant. 

The  house-keeper  curtseyed,  but  pressed  her  lips  to- 
gether as  if  to  ])re\'ent  them  from  speaking  in  remon- 
strance.    She  went  at  once  on  her  ungracious  errand. 


cnAPTKR  vnr. 


It 

.e 
e 
■s 

)W 

le 
lir 
lid 


11, 
re 

ler 

he 

ir 


CAROL  INK    I)F.    ST.    CASTI.V. 

Damk  'rRi;Miii.AV  entered  the  suite  of  apartint'nts  and 
returned  in  a  few  moments,  saying,  "  that  her  lady  was  not: 
there  hut  had  gone  dov.n  to  the  secret  chamber  to  be,  she 
supposed,  more  out  of  heai-ing  of  the  noise  which  had  dis- 
turbed her  so  much." 

-'I  will  go  find  her  tiien,"  rci)liL'd  the  Intendant,  "you 
may  return  Id  _\()UI-  <nvn  nioni,  dame  I  " 

He  walked  across  the  drawing-room  to  one  of  the  gor- 
geous panels  that  decorated  the  wall,  and  touched  a  hid- 
den spring.  A  door  Hew  ojien,  disclosing  a  stair  hea\ily 
carpeted  that  led  down  to  the  huge  vaulted  foundations  of 
the  chateau. 

He  descended  the  stair  with  hasty  though  unsteady 
stejDS.  It  led  to  a  spacious  room,  lighted  with  a  gorgeous 
lamp  that  hung  pendant  in  sih'er  chains  from  the  frescoed 
ceiling.  'The  walls  were  richly  tapestried  with  products  of 
the  looms  of  the  Gobelins,  representing  the  plains  of  Italy 
filled  with  sunshine  where  gro\'es,  temples  and  colonnades 
were  pictured  in  endless  vistas  of  beauty.  I'he  furniture 
of  the  chamber  was  of  regal  magnificence.  Nothing  that 
lu.xur}'  could  desire,  or  art  furnish,  had  been  sjjared  in  its 
adornment.  On  a  sofa  lay  a  guitar,  niul  i)eside  it  a  scarf 
and  a  dainty  glove  fit  for  the  hand  of  the  fairy  queen. 

The  Intendant  looked  eagerlv  rou)id,  as  he  entered  this 
bright  chamber  of  his  fanc}-.  but  saw  not  its  expected  oc- 
cupant. A  recess  in  the  deeiJ  wall  at  the  farther  side  of  the 
room  contained  an  oratory,  with  an  altar  and  a  crucitix 
upon  it.     The   recess  was   partly  in    the    shade.     JJut    the 


iii' 


i 


III' 


68 


THE  cm  EX  D'OR. 


eyes  of  the  Tntcndiint  discerned  clenrly  cnoiif;li  the  kneel- 
innj,  or  rntlier  the  i:)roslrate  figure  of  Caroline  de  St.  (Jastin. 
Her  hands  were  chisped  beneath  her  head,  wliich  was  bow- 
ed to  the  ground.  Her  long  black  hair  lay  dishevelled 
over  her  back,  as  she  lay  in  her  white  robe  like  the  Angel 
of  Sorrow,  weeping  and  cr\ing  from  the  depths  of  her 
broken  heart :  "*  Lamb  of  God,  tiiat  taketh  away  the  sins  of 
the  world,  have  mercy  upon  me  !  "  She  was  so  absorbed 
in  her  grief  that  she  did  not  notice  the  entrance  of  the  In- 
tendant. 

Uigot  stood  still  for  a  moment,  stricken  with  awe  at  the 
spectacle  of  tliis  lovely  woman  weeping  by  herself  in  the 
secret  chamber.  A  look  of  something  like  pity  stole  into 
his  eyes,  he  called  her  by  name,  ran  to  her,  assisted  her 
to  rise,  which  she  did  slowly  turning  towards  him  that 
weeping  Madcnna-like  face,  wliich  haunts  the  ruins  of 
Beaumanoir  t(j  this  day. 

She  was  of  medium  stature,  slender  and  lissome,  look- 
ing taller  than  she  really  was.  Her  features  were  chiselled 
with  exquisite  delicacy.  Her  hair  of  a  raven  blackness, 
and  eyes  of  that  dark  lustre  which  reappears  for  genera- 
tions in  the  descendants  of  Europeans,  who  have  mingled 
their  blood  with  that  of  the  Aboriijines  of  the  forest.  The 
Indian  eye  is  preserved  as  an  heir  loom,  k^ig  after  all 
memory  of  the  Red  stain  has  vanished  from  the  traditions 
of  the  family.  Her  complexion  was  pale,  naturally  of  a  rich 
olive,  but  now  through  sorrow  of  a  wan  and  bloodless  hue 
— still  very  beautiful  and  more  aiDpealing  than  the  rosiest 
comjjlcxion. 

Caroline  de  St.  Castin  was  an  Ac.idi(mne,  of  ancient 
and  noble  family,  whose  head  and  founder,  the  Baron  de 
St.  Castin,  had  married  the  beautiful  daughter  of  the  high 
chief  of  the  Abenaquis. 

Her  father's  house — one  of  the  most  considerable  in 
the  Colony,  had  been  the  resort  of  the  royal  officers,  civil 
and  military,  serving  in  Acadia.  Caroline,  the  only  daugh- 
ter of  the  noble  house,  had  been  reared  in  all  the  refine- 
ments and  luxuries  of  th.e  period,  as  became  her  rank  and 
position  botli  in  France  and  her  native  Province. 

In  an  evil  hour  for  her  happiness,  this  beautiful  and  ac- 
complished girl  met  the  Chevalier  Bigot,  who  as  Chief 
Commissary  of  the  Army,  was  one  of  the  foremost  of  the 
Royal  officers  in  Acadia. 


1 


i 


CAROLIXE  DK  ST.  CASTLV. 


69 


ill 

)ns 
:h 

uie 

,'St 
Mlt 

(le 


in 
vil 

le- 
lid 

lic- 
lef 
he 


His  ready  wit  and  jxriiceful  manners  pleased  and  flat- 
tered the  su.>ceplible  <j;irl,  not  used  to  the  seductions  of  the 
polished  courtesies  of  the  Mother  T^and  of  France.  She  was 
of  a  joyous  temper,  <;ay,  frank  and  contidin^.  Her  father, 
immersed  in  public  affairs,  left  her  much  to  herself,  nor, 
had  he  known  it,  would  he  have  disapproved  of  thei;allant 
courtesies  (A  the  Chewdier  IJi^ot.  I'or  the  Baron  had  the 
soul  of  honor,  and  dreamt  e\ery  gentleman  as  well  as  him- 
self possessed  it. 

Bij^ot,  to  do  him  justice,  felt  as  sincere  a  reijiard  for  this 
beautiful,  amiable  <;irl  as  his  nature  was  capal>le  of  enter- 
taininir.  In  rank  and  fortune,  she  was  more  than  his 
equal  and  left  to  himself,  he  would  willini^ly  have  married 
her  before  he  learned  that  his  project  of  a  marriage  in 
the  Colony,  was  scouted  at  Court.  He  had  already  offer- 
ed his  love  to  Caroline  to  St.  Castin,  and  won  easily  the 
gentle  heart  that  was  but  too  well  disposed  to  receive  his 
homage. 

Her  trust  went  with  her  love.  Earth  was  never 
so  green,  nor  air  so  sweet,  nor  skies  so  bright  and  azure,  as 
those  of  Caroline's  wooing,  on  the  shores  of  the  beautiful 
bay  of  Minas.  She  loved  this  man  with  a  passion  that  tilled 
with  ecstasy  her  whole  being.  She  trusted  his  promises  as 
she  would  have  trusted  God's.  She  loved  him  better  than 
she  loved  herself — better  than  she  loved  Cod,  or  God's 
law  ;  and  counted  as  a  gain  every  loss  she  suffertid  for  his 
sake,  and  for  the  affection  she  bore  him. 

After  some  months  spent  in  her  charming  society,  a 
change  came  ever  Ijigot.  He  received  formidable  missives 
from  his  great  patroness  at  Versailles,  the  Mar([uise  de 
Pompadour,  who  had  other  matrimonial  designs  for  him. 
IJigot  was  too  slavish  a  courtier  to  resent  her  interference, 
nor  was  he  honest  enough  to  exi^lain  his  position  to  his 
betrothed.  He  deferred  his  marriage.  The  exigencies  of 
the  war  called  him  away.  He  had  triumphed  over  a  fond 
confiding  woman  ;  but  he  had  been  trained  among  the  dis- 
solute spirits  of  the  Regency  too  thoroughly  to  feel  more 
than  a  passing  regret  for  a  woman  whom,  probal)ly  he  loved 
better  than  any  other   of  the  victims  of  his   licentious  life. 

When  he  finally  left  Acadia  a  conquered  Province  in 
the  hands  of  the  English,  he  also  left  behind  him,  the 
one  true  loving  heart  that  believed  in  his  honor,  and  still 
prayed  for  his  happiness. 


JL<— .%jU  JHU  «W 


I 


i 

( 

i 

K! 

It 


A    i' 


IH 


ii 


70 


T///':  CiriEiV  D'OR. 


The  (lays  of  Caroline's  disillusion  soon  came  ;  she  could 
iiol  conceal  from  herself  that  shi;  had  been  basely  de- 
ceived and  abandoned  by  the  man  she  lo\ed  so  aidently. 
She  learned  thai  r)i,i;()L  had  been  elevated  to  the  hi;;h  otfice 
of  Intendant  of  New  France,  but  felt  herself  as  utterly 
for!j;f)tti'n  by  him  as  the  rose  that  had  Ijloomed  and  wither- 
ed in  her  j^arden  two  sununers  a;;o. 

Her  father  had  been  sununoned  to  France  on  the  loss 
of  the  Colony;  and  fear!  11  j;  to  face  him  on  his  retiu'n,  Car- 
oline suddenly  left  her  hoiue,  and  sought  refui^e  in  the 
forest  amoui;  her  far-off  kindred,  the  red  Al)ena([uis, 

The  Indians  welcomed  her  with  joy  and  u  'nded  re- 
spect, reco^i^nizinj;  her  ri-jjht  to  their  devotion  ..  '  edience. 
They  put  upon  her  feet  the   mocassins  of  tl  ibe,   and 

sent  her  with  a  trusty  escort  throu;j;h  the  wilderness,  to 
Quebec,  where  she  hoi)e(l  to  lind  the  Intendant;  not  io  re- 
proach him  for  his  perfidy,  (her  gentle  heart  was  too  much 
subdued  for  that,)  but  to  claim  his  protection,  and  if  refused, 
to  die  at  his  door. 

It  was  under  such  circumstances  that  the  beautiful  hi'^h- 
born  Cartjline  de  St.  Castin  became  an  iiuuate  of  Heau- 
manoir.  She  had  passed  tlie  ni<;ht  of  this  wild  debauch  in  a 
vigil  of  prayers,  tears  and  lamentations  over  her  sad  lot, 
and  over  the  des^radation  of  ]}iy;ot  by  the  life  which  she 
now  knew  he  led.  Sometimes  her  .maddened  fancy  was 
ready  to  accuse  Providence  itself  of  cruelty  and  injustice. 
Sometimes  inaLjnifyinfi^  her  own  sin,  she  was  ready  to  think 
all  earthly  i)unishment  upon  herself  as  too  liglit,  and  in- 
voked death  and  jud,i;"ment  as  alone  adequate  to  her  fault. 
All  niy;ht  \o\v^  she  had  knell  before  the  altar,  askin:;  for 
mercy  and  forgiveness.  Sometimes  starting  to  her  feet  in 
terror,  as  a  fresh  burst  of  revelry  came  rushing  from  the 
ffreat  Hall  above,  and  shook  the  door  of  her  secret  cham- 
ijer.  r>ul  no  one  came  to  her  help,  no  one  looked  in  upon  her 
desolation.  She  deemed  herself  utterly  for;jotten  and 
forsaken  of  God  and  man. 

Occasionally  she  fancied  she  could  distinguish  the  voice 
of  the  Intendant  amid  the  drunken  uioroar,  and  she  shud- 
dered at  the  infatuation  which  boun<I  her  very  soul  to  this 
man  ;  and  yet  when  slie  questioned  her  heart,  she  knew  that 
base  as  he  was,  all  she  had  done  and  suffered  for  him,  she 
would  infallibly  tlo  again.  Were  her  life  to  live  over,  she 
would  repeat  the  fault  of  loving  this  false,  ungrateful  man  ! 


|1- 
jis 
Kt 

le 


CAROLIXE  ni-:  ST.  C.1STLV. 


71 


The  promise  of  niani.i;;c  hud  been  equivalent  to  m;uTi;ifTe 
ill  her  trust  of  him,  and  n()thiii<;  but  death  could  now  di- 
voree  her  from  him. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  by,  each  si'L-min^;  an  ai^e  of  suf- 
ferinu^.  Her  fee]in,Li;s  were  worked  up  to  frcn/)-.  She  fan- 
cied she  heard  her  father's  anjjjry  voice  calliuLj  her  by  name, 
or  she  iieard  accusing  anr,fels  jeeriiiLC  at  her  fall.  She  sank 
prostrate  at  last,  in  the  ab  inddniih-nt  of  despair,  calhni; 
upon  Ci  h\  to  ]Kit  an  end  to  her  miserable  life. 

\\\'^i)\  raised  her  from  the  floor,  with  WDrds  of  pity  and 
symj)alhy.  She  turiu'd  on  iiim  a  look  of  j^i'atitiide,  which, 
had  he  been  of  stone,  lie  nnist  have  felt  it.  lUit  15i<^ot's 
words  meant  less  than  she  fancied.  He  was  still  loo  intox- 
icated to  rellect,  or  feel  shame  of  his  jiresent  errand. 

'*  ('arolinc  !''  saitl  he,  "  what  do  you  here  .''  This  is  the 
time  to  make  merry — not  to  iiris!  'J'he  honorable  com- 
pany in  the  ,u,ieat  Hall  desire  .0  pay  their  resi)ects  to  the 
lady  of  JJcaumanoir — come  with  me  !  '' 

He  tlrew  her  hand  thron!.;h  his  arm  with  a  courtly  i;race 
that  seldtnn  forsook  him,  even  in  his  worst  moments.  Caro- 
line looked  at  run  in  a  dazed  manner,  not  comprehending 
his  request.  ''Go  with  you,  Francois  you  know  1  will; 
but  where? '' 

"  To  the  great  Hall,"  repeated  he,  "  my  worthy  guests 
desire  to  see  )ou  and  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  fair  lady 
of  Jjcaumanoir." 

It  Hashed  upon  her  mind  what  he  wanted.  Her  woman- 
ly ]->ride  was  outraged  as  it  had  never  been  before,  she 
witlidrew  her  hand  from  his  arm  with  shame  and  terror 
stamped  on  every  feature. 

"(io  up  there!  Oo  to  show  myself  to  your  guests  !  " 
exclaimed  she,  wiih  choking  accents,  as  she  stepj)ed  back 
a  pace  from  him — "  Uh,  Fran^-ois  Bigot,  spare  me  that 
shame  and  humiliation,  I  am,  I  know,  contemptible  beyond 
human  respect,  but  still — God  helji  me  I    I   am   not  so  vile 


IS  to  be  made  a  spectacle  o 


f  inf 


im\' 


to  tl 


lose  c 


Iru 


nken  men. 


whom  I  hear  clamorimr  for  me,  even  no 


w, 


"  Pshaw!  You  think  too  much  of  the  proprieties,  Caro- 
line ]  "  Bigot  felt  sensibly  jierplexed  at  the  attitude  she  as- 
sumed. "Why!  "j'he  fairest  dames  of  Paris,  dressed  as 
Hebes  and  Ganymedes.  thought  it  a  tine  jest  to  wait  on  the 
Regent  Duke  of  Orleans,  and  the  Cardinal  du  Pois,  in  the 
gay  da\s  of  the  king's  bachelorhood,  and  they  do  the  same 


r 


ii 


i'  'i 


72 


r//J;  CHTEN  D'OR. 


now  when  the  kinij  ,L,'('ts  up  one  of  liis  prcat  feasts  at  Choisy ; 
so  come  bwcclhearl — come!"  He  drew  her  towards  the 
door. 

"  Spare  me,  FraiK/)is  !  "  Caroline  knelt  at  liis  feet,  clasp- 
in;;  his  hand  and  halhinu^  it  in  tears — "Spare  me  !  "  cried 
she.  "Oh,  would  to  (lod  1  had  died,  ere  you  came  to  com- 
iiiaiidmetodo  what  I  cannot  and  will  not  do,  I'Vancjois  !" 
added  she,  clasi)in;;  hard  the  hand  of  the  Intendant,  which 
she  fancied  relaxed  somewhat  of  its  iron  hardness. 

"  I  did  not  c:ome  to  cc^mnjand  you,  Caroline  !  but  to  bear 
the  re(|uest  of  my  quests.  No,  I  do  not  even  ask  you  on  my 
account  to  ^o  uj)  to  the  great  Hall.  It  is  to  please  my 
guests  oidy."  Her  tears  and  heart-rending  appeal,  be- 
gan to  sober  him.  J>igot  had  not  counted  ui)on  such  a 
scene  as  this. 

"Oh,  thanks,  Francois,  for  that  word  !  you  did  not  come 
to  command  my  obedience  in  such  a  shameful  thing.  You 
liad  some  small  regarrl  left  for  the  unfortunate  Caroline  ; 
say  you  will  not  comm;Mul  me  to  go  up  there,"  added  she, 
looking  at  him  with  eyes  of  pitiful  pleading,  such  as  no 
Italian  art  ever  portrayed  on  the  face  of  the  sorrowing 
Madoiuia. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  impatiently.  "  It  was  not  T  proposed 
it.  It  was  ('adet.  He  is  always  a  fool  when  the  wine 
overllows,  as  I  am  too,  or  1  would  not  have  hearkened  to 
Www  !  Still,  Caroline,  I  have  promised,  and  my  guests  will 
jeer  me  Ihiely  if  I  return  without  you."  He  thought  she 
hesitated  a  moment  in  her  resolve  at  this  suggestion. 
"  Come,  for  my  sake,  Caroline!  Do  up  that  disordered 
hair  ;  I  shall  be  j^roud  of  you,  my  Caroline.  There  is  not 
a  lady  in  New  France  can  match  you  when  you  look  your- 
self, my  pretty  Caroline  !  " 

"  I'Vanrois  :  "  said  she,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  it  is  long 
since  you  llattered  me  thus  !  But  i  will  arrange  my  hair, 
for  you  alone,"  added  she,  blushing,  as  with  deft  fingers  she 
twisted  her  raven  locks  into  a  coronal  about  her  head.  "  I 
would  once  ha\e  gone  with  you  to  the  end  of  the  world  to 
hear  you  say  you  were  proud  of  nie.  Alas  !  you  can  never 
be  proud  of  me  any  more,  as  in  the  old  hapjiy  days  at 
Grand  Pre.  Those  few  brief  days  of  love  and  joy  can 
never  return — never,  never  !  " 

IJigot  stood  silent,  not  knowing  what  to  say  or  do.  The 
change  from  the   Bacchanalian  riot  in  the  great  Hall,  to 


I 


CAKOUNF'.  DE  ST.  CAST/.V. 


73 


A 


tlic  si)lonin  pathos  and  woe  of  (he  secret  chainlier  sobered 
him  rapidly,  l^ven  his  ohchiracy  ^Mve  way  al  last.  "Car- 
oline," said  he,  taking  both  her  hands  in  his,  "  I  will  not 
urge  you  Ioniser.  I  am  called  bad,  and  you  think  ine  so  ; 
but  I  am  not  brutal.  It  was  a  promise  made  o\er  the 
wine.  Varin,  the  drunken  beast,  called  you  (^ueeii  Vashti, 
and  challenged  me  to  show  your  beauty  to  them  ;  and  I 
swore  not  one  of  tiieir  toasted  beauties  could  match  my 
fair  Acadienne." 

*'  Did  the  Sieur  Varin  call  me  (^ueen  Vashti  ?  Alas  ! 
he  was  a  truer  prophet  than  he  knew,"  replied  she  with 
ineffable  sadness.  "  ( )ueen  Vashti  refused  to  obev  even 
her  king,  when  comnianded  to  unveil  her  face  to  the 
drunken  nobles.  She  was  deposed,  and  another  raised  to 
her  place.      Such  may  be  my  fate,  Fran^-ois." 

''  'I'hen  you  will  not  go,  Caroline  .''  " 

"  No — kill  me  if  you  like,  and  bt-ar  my  dead  body  into 
the  Hall — but  living,  I  can  never  show  my  face  again  be- 
fore men — hardly  before  you,  Fran(;ois,"  added  she,  blush- 
ing, as  she  hid  her  tearful  eves  on  his  shoulder. 

"Well  then,  Caroline,"  replied  he,  really  admiring  her 
spirit  and  resolution,  "  they  shall  finish  their  carouse  witli- 
out  seeing  you.  The  wine  has  Howed  to-night  in  rivers, 
but  they  shall  swim  in  it  without  you." 

"  And  tears  have  flowed  down  here,"  said  she,  sadlv — 
"oh,  so  bitter!  May  you  never  taste  their  bitterness,  Fran- 
!" 

Ijigot  paced  the  chamber  with  stea^-iier  steps  than 
he  had  entered  it.  'J'he  fumes  were  clearing  from  his 
brain  ;  the  song  that  had  caught  the  car  of  Colonel  I'hili- 
bert,  as  he  approached  the  Chateau,  was  resounding  at 
this  moment.  As  it  ceased  IJigot  heard  the  loud  impatient 
knocking  of   I'hilibert  at  the  outer  door. 

"Darling!"  said  he,  "lie  down  now,  and  compose 
yourself.  Francois  IJigot  is  not  unmindful  of  your  sacri- 
fices for  his  sake.  I  must  return  to  m\'  guests,  who  are 
clamoring  for  me,  or  rather  for  you,  Caroline  I  " 

He  kissed  her  cheek,  and  turned  to  leave  her,  but  she 
clung  to  his  hand  as  if  wanting  to  say  something  more 
ere  he  went.  She  treml)led  visibly,  as  her  low  plaintive 
tones  struck  his  ear. 

"  Fran(;ois !  if  you  would  forsake  the  companionship  of 
those  men,  and  purify  your   table  of  such   excess,  God's 


(;ois 


WTW 


74 


r//E  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


11 


' 


I   \ 


\  !! 


\i 


I  !|( 


blessing  would  yet  descend  upon  you,  and  the  people's  love 
follow  you  !  It  is  in  your  power  to  be  as  good  as  you  are 
great  !  I  have  many  days  wished  t(j  say  this  to  you,  but 
alas,  I  feared  }ou  too  much.  1  do  not  fear  you  to  day, 
Fran(;ois,  after  _\-our  kind  words  to  me." 

iiigot  was  not  imj)enetrable  to  that  low  voice  so  full  of 
pathos  and  love.  lUit  he  was  at  a  loss  what  to  rej^ly — 
strange  intliiences  were  flowing  round  him,  carrying  him 
out  of  himself.  lie  kissed  the  gentle  head  that  reclined 
on  his  bosom.  "Caroline,"'  said  he,  "your  advice  is  wise 
and  good  as  yourself.  J  will  think  of  it  for  your  sake,  if 
not  for  my  own.  Adieu,  darling  !  Go  and  take  rest ;  these 
cruel  vigils  aie  killing  you,  and  I  want  you  to  live  in  hope 
of  briiihter  davs." 

"1  will,"  rei)lied  she.  lookmg  up  with  ineffable  tender- 
ness. "  I  am  sure  I  shall  rest  after  j'our  kind  words,  Fran- 
(;ois.''  No  dew  of  Heaven  was  ever  more  .;.'f resiling  than 
the  balm  they  bring  to  my  weary  soul.  'J'hanks,  oh  my 
Fran(,'(Ms,  for  them  ! '"  She  kissed  iiis  lips,  and  Bigot  left  the 
secret  chamber  a  sadder  and  for  the  moment  a  better  man 
than  he  had  ever  been  before. 

Caroline,  overcome  by  her  emotions,  threw  herself  on  a 
couch,  invoking  blessings  upon  the  head  of  the  man  by 
whom  she  had  been  so  cruelly  betrayed.  Uut  such  is 
woman's  heart — full  of  mercy,  compassion  and  pardon  for 
every  wrong  when  love  pleads  for  forgiveness. 

'*  Ha  !  Ha!  "  said  Cadet,  as  the  Intendant  re-entered 
the  great  Hall,  which  was  tilled  witi  Bacchanalian  frenzy. 
"Ha!  Ha!  His  Excellency  has  proposed  and  been  re- 
jected !  The  fair  lady  has  a  will  of  her  own  and  won't 
obey  !  why,  the  Intendant  looks  as  if  he  had  come  from 
Quintin  Corentin,  where  nobody  gets  anything  he  wants  !  " 

"Silence.  Cadet!  don't  be  a  fool  ! "  replied  Bigot,  im- 
patiently, although  in  the  Intendant's  usual  mood,  nothing 
too  gross  or  too  bad  could  be  snid  in  his  presence  but  he 
could  caj)  it  with  sc^mething  worse. 

"  tool,  IJigot !  It  is  \'(Hi  who  have  been,  the  fool  of  a 
woman  !  "  Cadet  was  privileged  to  say  anything,  and  he 
never  stinted  Ins  speech.  "Confess,  your  Plxcellency ! 
she  is  splay  footed  as  St.  Pedauque  of  Dijon!  She  dare 
not  trip  over  our  carpet  for  fear  of  showing  her  big  feet  I  " 

Cadet's  coarse  remark  excited  the  mirth  of  the  In- 
tendant.    The   influences  of  the   great    Hall   were   more 


ill 


M 


CAROLINE  DE  ST.  CASTIN. 


75 


powerful  than  those  of  the  secret  chamber.  He  replied 
curtly,  however — "  1  have  excused  tlie  lady  from  coming, 
Cadet.  She  is  ill,  or  she  does  not  please  to  come — or  slie 
has  a  private  fancy  of  her  own  to  nurse  ;  any  reason  is 
enouy;h  to  excuse  a  lady,  or  for  a  gentleman  to  cease  pres- 


sing her." 


"  Dear  me  !  "  muttered  Cadet,  "  the  wind  blows  fresh 
from  a  new  ciuarter !  It  is  easterly,  an'  betokens  a 
storm  ! ''  and  with  drunken  gravity  he  commenced  singing 
a  huntinii  refrain  of  Louis  XIV.  : — 


Im- 
Ihe 


a 
[lie 

IV ! 
[re 

In- 
Ire 


"Sitot  (iii'il  vdit  sa  Cliien 
11  i|iiitte  tuut  puur  clltnc," 

Bigot  burst  out  into  immorlerate  laughter.  "  Cadet," 
said  he,  "  you  arc,  when  drunk,  the  greatest  ruffian  in 
Christendom,  and  the  biggest  knave  when  sober.  Let  the 
lady  sleep  in  peace,  while  we  drink  oursehes  blind  in  her 
honor.  Bring  i''  brandy,  valets  !  and  we  will  not  look  foi 
dav  until  midnight  booms  on  the  old  clock  of  the  ChtV 
teau.'" 

'l"he  loud  kno<  king  of  Philibert  ni  the  great  Hall  rever- 
berated again  and  again  through  the  house.  liigot  bade 
the  valets  go  see  who  disturbed  the  Chateau  in  tiiat  bold 
style. 

'"  Let  no  one  in  !  "  added  he — "  tis  against  the  rule  to 
open  the  doors  when  the  Grand  Company  are  met  for  busi- 
ness !  Take  whips,  valets  !  an;'  scourge  the  insolent  beg- 
gars away.  Some  miserable  liabitans  I  warrant,  whining 
for  the  loss  of  their  eggs  and  bacon  taken  by  the  king's  pur- 
veyors ! " 

A  servant  returned  with  a  card  on  a  silver  salver.  "An 
officer  in  uniform  v/aits  to  see  your  Kxcellency  ;  he  bringh 
orders  from  tiie  (J()\-ernor,"  said  he  to  the  Intendant. 

Bigot  looked  at  the  card,  with  knitted  brows,  fire 
sparkled  in  his  e\es  as  he  lead  t!ie  name. 

"Colonel  I'hilibert  ! ''  exclaimed  he,  "Aid  de-Camp  of 
the  Gox'ernor  !  what  the  liend  brings  li'nn  at  sucli  a 
time?  Do  you  hear ?  "  c(jntiiuied  he.  turning  to  \'arin. 
"  It  is  your  friend  from  Louisbourg,  who  was  going  to  put 
you  in  irons,  and  send  you  to  I'Vance  for  tii.d.  when  tiie 
mutinous  garrison  threatened  to  suiieiuKr  the  place  if  we 
did  not  pay  tiiem." 

Varin  was  nut  so  intoxicated  but  the  name  of  Philibert 


76 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


■  1 


roused  his  anf];er.  He  set  his  cuj3  clown  with  a  bang  upon 
the  table.  "  I  will  not  taste  a  drop  more  till  he  is  gone," 
said  he  ;  "curse  Oalissoiiiere's  crooked  neck — could  he  not 
have  selected  .i  nif^re  welcome  messenger  to  send  to  Beau- 
manoir?  Hut  I  have  got  his  name  in  my  list  of  debtors, 
and  he  shall  pay  up  one  day  for  his  insolence  at  Louis- 
bourg." 

"  Tut,  tut,  shut  up  your  books  ;  you  are  too  mercantile 
for  gentlemen,"  replied  Bigot.  "  The  ([uestion  is  shall  we 
allow  Colonel  Philihert  to  bring  his  orders  into  tlie  Hall.-* 
Par  J)ieu  !  we  are  scarcely  presentable  !  " 

liut  whether  presentable  or  no,  tlie  words  were  scarcely 
spoken  wiien,  impatient  at  the  delay,  Philil;)ert  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  open  door  and  entered  the  great  Hall. 
He  stood  in  utter  amazement  for  a  moment  at  the  scene 
of  drunken  riot  which  he  beheld.  The  inflamed  faces,  the 
confusion  of  tongues,  the  disorder,  tilth  and  stench  of  the 
prolonged  debaucii  sickened  him,  while  the  sight  of  so 
many  men  of  rank  and  high  otifice  revelling  at  such  an 
hour,  raised  a  feeling  of  indignation  which  he  had  difB- 
culty  in  keeping  down,  while  he  delivered  his  message  to 
the  Intendant. 

Bigot,  however,  was  too  shrewd  to  be  wanting  in  polite- 
ness. '*  Welcome  Colonel  Philibert,"  said  he  ;  "you  are  an 
unexpected  guest,  but  a  welc(Mne  one  I  come  and  taste  the 
hospitality  of  Beaumanoir  before  you  deliver  your  message. 
Bustle,  valets,  bring  fresh  cups  and  the  fullest  carafes  for 
Colonel  Philibert.'' 

"  Phanks  for  your  politeness,  Chevalier  !  Your  Ex- 
cellency will  please  excuse  me  if  I  deliver  my  message  at 
once.  My  time  is  not  my  own  to-day,  so  I  will  not  sit 
down.  His  Excellency  the  Governor  desires  your  presence 
and  that  of  the  royal  Commissaries  at  the  council  of  war 
this  afternoon,  despatches  hnve  just  arrived  by  the  P^leur 
de  Lys  from  home,  and  the  council  must  assemble  at 
once." 

A  red  flush  rested  upon  the  brow  of  Philibert  as  in  his 
mind  he  measured  the  important  business  of  the  council 
with  the  fitness  of  the  men  whom  he  summoned  to  at- 
tend,^it.  He  declined  the  offer  of  wine  and  stepped  back- 
ward from  the  table,  with  a  bow  to  the  Intendant  and  the 
company  and  was  about  to  depart,  when  a  loud  voice  on 
the  further  side  of  the  table  cried  out : 


'  ^  ^  *T^-'" ; 


<-  ■  .* 


CAROUNE  DE  ST.  CASTIN. 


77 


at 
Isit 
ice 

ar 
|ur 
lat 

lis 
il 
ll- 

l-c- 
le 
a 


"  It  is  he,  by  all  that  is  sacred  !  Pierre  Philibcrt  ! 
wait  ! "  I^c  Gardeur  cle  RepeiUi^jny  rushed  like  a  storm 
through  the  hall,  upsetting  chairs  and  guests  in  his  advance. 
He  ran  towards  Colonel  Philil)ert  who  not  recognizing  the 
flushed  face,  and  disordered  figure  that  greeted  him  shrank 
back  from  his  embrace. 

"  My  God  !  do  you  not  know  me,  Pierre  ?  "  exclaimed  Le 
Gardeur,  wounded  to  the  quick  by  the  astoni';hed  look  of 
liis  friend.  "  I  am  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  !  Oh,  dear 
friend,  look  and  recognizee  me  !  " 

Philbert  stood  transtixed  with  surprise  and  pain  as  if  an 
arrow  had  stricken  his  eyes.  '*  You  ?  you  }  Le  Gardt .  " 
de  Repentigny  ?  It  is  impossible  !  Le  Gardeur  never 
looked  like  you,  much  less,  was  ever  found  among  peo- 
ple like  these ! "  The  last  words  were  rashly  spoken, 
but  fortunately  not  heard  amid  the  hulibub  in  the  hall,  or 
Philibert's  life  might  have  paid  the  penalty  from  the  ex- 
cited guests. 

"  And  yet  it  is  true,  Pierre,  look  at  me  again.  I  am  no 
other  than  he  whom  you  drew  out  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  the 
only  brother  of  Amc'lie  !  " 

Philibert  looked  hard  in  the  eyes  of  Le  Gardeur,  and 
doubted  no  longer.  He  jiressed  his  old  friend  to  his  heart, 
saying  in  a  voice  full  of  pathos  : — 

"  Oh,  Le  Gardeiu" !  I  recognize  you  now,  but  under 
what  change  of  look  and  place  ?  Often  have  I  forecast 
our  meeting  again,  but  it  was  in  your  pure,  virtuous  home 
of  Tilly,  not  in  this  place.  What  do  you  here  Le  Gar- 
deur? ■' 

"  Forgive  me,  Pierre,  for  the  shame  of  meeting  me  here," 
Le  Gardeur  stood  up  like  a  new  man  in  the  glance  of  his 
friend  ;  tlie  shock  seemed  to  have  sobered  him  at  once. 
" '  What  flo  I  here  ? '  say  you,  oh,  dear  friend  !  "  said  he,  glanc- 
ing round  the  hall,  "  it  is  easier  seen  than  told  what  I  do 
here.  But  by  all  the  Saints  I  have  finished  here  for  to-day! 
You  return  to  the  citv  at  once,  Pierre  ?  " 

"At  once,  Le  Gardeur.  Tiie  Governor  awaits  my  re- 
turn." 

"  Then  I  will  return  with  you.  My  dear  aunt  and  sis- 
ter are  in  the  city.  News  of  their  arrival  reached  me  here, 
my  duty  was  to  return  at  once,  but  the  Intendant's  wine- 
cups  were  too  potent  for  me  ;  curse  them,  for  they  have  dis- 
graced me  in  your  eyes,  Pierre,  as  well  as  my  own  !  " 


78 


THE  CHI  EX  D'OR. 


rhilibcrt  started  at  the  information  that  Amclie  was  in 
the  city.  "  Anit'lic  in  the  city?  "  relocated  he  with  j^hul  sur- 
prise, "  I  (lid  not  expect  to  be  able  to  salute  her  and  the 
noble  Ladv  de  Tillv  so  soon."  Mis  heart  bounded  in 
.secret  at  the  jjrospect  of  again  seeing  this  fair  girl  who  had 
filled  his  thoughts  for  so  many  years,  and  been  the  se- 
cret spring  of  so  much  tliat  was  noble  and  manly  in  his 
character. 

*'  Come,  Le  Gardeur,  let  us  take  leave  of  the  Intendant, 
and   return  at  once   to   the    city,  biU  not  in  that  ])light  ! 


added  he  smil 


\\y. 


as  Le   Gardeur,  oblivious   of  all    but  the 


pleasure  of  accom])anying  him,  had  grasped  his  arm  to 
leave  the  great  Hall.  '*  Not  in  that  garb,  Le  (ranlcur! 
]:5athe,  purifv,  and  clean  yourself,  I  will  wait  outside  in  the 
fresh  air.     The  odor  of  this  room  stifles  me  !  " 

"  Vou  are  not  going  to  leave  us,  Le  Gardeur  !  "  Varin 
called  across  the  table,  *' and  break  up  good  company.'' 
Wait  till  we  linish  a  few  more  rounds  and  we  will  all  "[o 
together." 

''  I  have  finished  all  the  rounds  for  to-day,  Varin,  may 
be  for  ever  !  Colonel  Thilibert  is  my  dearest  friend  in  life, 
I  must  leave  even  you  to  go  with  him,  so  J^ray  excuse  me." 

"You  arc  excused,  Le  Cxardeur."  Bigot  s])oke  very 
courteously  to  him,  much  as  he  disliketi  the  idea  of  his 
com|xinionship  widi  IMiilibert.  "  We  m  !st  all  return  by 
the  time  the  Cathedral  bells  chime  noon.  Take  owt  part- 
ing cup  before  you  go  Le  Gardeur,  and  prevail  on  Colonel 
Philibert  to  do  the  same,  or  he  will  nt)t  praise  our  hospi- 
talitv,  1  fear." 

"  Not  one  drop  more  this  day,  were  it  from  Jove's  own 
poculum."  Le  (rardeur  repelled  the  temptation  m ort;  I'eadily 
as  he  felt  a  twitch  on  his  sleeve  from  the  hand  of  Philibert. 

''Well,  as  you  will,  Le  Gardeur,  we  ha\e  all  had  enough 
and  o\'er  I  dare  say,  ha  !  ha  I  C'olonel  Philibert  rather  puts 
us  to  the  blush,  or  would  do,  were  not  our  cheeks  so  well 
painted  in  the  hues  of  rosy  liacchus." 

Philibert,  with  ollicial  courtes}',  bade  adie'u  to  the  fnten- 
dant  and  the  company.  A  couple  of  valets  waited  upon 
Le  Gardeur,  whom  they  assisted  to  bathe  and  dress.  \\\ 
a  short  time  he  left  the  Chateau  almost  sobered  and  wholly 
metamorphosed  into  a  handsome  fresii  Chevalier.  A  per- 
verse redness  about  the  eyes  alone  remained  to  tell  the  tale 
of  the  last  niLrht's  debauch. 


CAROLiyE  DF.  ST.  CASTI.V. 


79 


i,'« 


lily 
It. 

luls 

Lii 

bn- 

loa 
lln 

fly 

;r- 
ile 


Master  Potliicr  sat  on  a  horse-block  at  the  door  with 
all  the  <;ravity  of  a  ju(l.je,  while  he  wailed  for  the  return  of 
Colonel  IMiilihert  and  listened  to  the  li\ely  noisi^  in  the 
Chateau,  the  music,  S(jii:j^,  and  jinL;le  of  ^lass  forniini;  a 
sweet  concert  in  the  ears  of  the  jolly  old  notary. 

"  I  shall  not  n(;ed  vou  to  iruide  nie  hack.  Master  Poth- 
ier,"  said  Philibert,  as  he  j^ut  some  silver  i);eces  in  his 
hollow  palm,  "take  yoiu'  fee.  'I'he  cause  is  <;aineil,  is  it 
not,  Le  Gardeur?"  He  glanced  triumphantly  at  his 
friend. 

"Cxood-bye,  Master  Pothier,"  said  he  as  lie  rrxle  off  with 
Le  Gardeur.  The  old  ncHary  could  not  keep  up  with  them 
but  came  joltini;-  on  behind,  well  i)leased  to  have  leisure  to 
count  and  iin<j;le  his  coins.  Master  I'othicr  was  in  that 
state  of  jcjyiul  anticipation,  when  hope  outruns  realization. 
He  already  s;iw  himself  seated  in  the  old  arm-chair  in  the 
snug  jjarlor  of  Dame  Ijedanl's  inn,  his  back  to  the  the, 
his  belly  to  the  table,  a  smoking  chsli  of  roast  in  the  mid- 
dle, an  ample  trencher  before  him  with  a  bottle  of  Cognac 
on  one  tiank,  and  a  jug  of  Xorman  cidet  on  the  other,  an 
old  cronv  or  two  to  eat  and  drink  with  him,  and  the  liirht 
foot  and  tleft  hand  of  pretty  Zoe  iJedafd  to  wait  upon  tlnin. 

This  ])icture  of  perfect  bliss  lloated  befcjre  the  winking 
eyes  of  Master  Pothier,  and  his  mouth  watered  in  antici[)a- 
tion  of  his  lulen,  not  of  flowers  and  trees,  but  of  tables, 
cu[)s,  and  platters,  with  plenty  \.o  till  them,  and  to  empty 
tJiem  as  well. 

"A  worthy  gentleman  and  a  brave  officer,  1  warrant  !  " 
said  Pothier  as  he  jogged  along.  "  He  is  generous  as  a 
prince,  and  considerate  as  a  bishop,  fit  for  a  judge,  nay,  for 
a  chief  justice!  What  would  )-ou  do  for  him.  Master 
Pothier?"  the  old  nectary  asked  himself.  "  J.  answer  the 
interrogatory  of  the  Court!  [  would  draw  up  his  marriage 
contract,  write  his  last  will  and  testament  with  the  greatest 
of  pleasure  and  without  a  fee  !  And  n  )  not  ir\-  in  Xew  France 
could  do  more  for  him  !  "  Pothier's  imagination  fell  into  a 
vision  o\-er  a  consideration  of  his  fav  )rite  text,  that  y^{  the 
great  sheet,  wherein  was  all  manner  of  llesh  and  fowl  good 
for  food,  but  the  tongue  of  the  old  notary  would  trip  at  the 
name  of  IVter,  and  perversely  sav  "  rise,  Pothier,  kill  and 
eat." 


;.  i 
i  f 


^ 


CHAPTER  IX. 


PIERRE     r  H  I  M  P.  KRT 


ilf 


CoT.ONKL  rini.TiiKkT  and  Le  Gardeur  rode  rapidly 
through  llic  forest  of  Heauinaiioir,  pulling  up  occasionally  in 
an  eager  and  symjiatlietic  exchange  of  questions  and  replies, 
as  they  recounted  the  events  of  their  lives  since  their 
separation,  or  recalled  their  school  days  and  glorious  holi- 
days and  rambles  in  the  woods  of  Tilly — with  frequent 
mention  of  their  gentle,  fair  companion,  Amelie  De  Repen- 
tigny,  whose  name  on  the  lips  of  her  brother  sounded 
sweeter  than  the  chime  of  the  bells  of  Charlebourg  to  the 
ear  of  Pierre  Piiilibert. 

The  bravest  man  in  New  France  felt  a  tremor  in  his 
breast  as  he  asked  Le  Gardeur  a  seemingly  careless  ques- 
tion— seemingly,  for,  in  truth,  it  was  vital  in  the  last  degree 
to  his  happiness,  and  he  knew  it.  He  expressed  a  fear 
that  Amelie  would  have  wholly  forgotten  him  after  so  long 
an  absence  from  New  Pran:;e. 

His  heart  almost  ceased  beating  as  he  waited  the  reply 
of  Le  Gardeur,  which  came  impetuously:  "  Forgotten  you, 
Pierre  Philibert?  She  would  forget  me  as  soon  !  J5ut  for 
you  she  would  have  had  no  brother  to-day,  and  in  her 
prayers  she  ever  remembers  both  of  us  ;  you  by  right  of  a 
sister's  gratitude,  me  because  I  am  unworthy  of  her  saintly 
prayers,  and  need  them  all  the  more  !  Oli !  Pierre  Phili- 
bert. you  do  not  know  Amelie  if  you  think  she  is  one  ever 
to  forget  a  friend  like  you  !  " 

Tlie  heart  of  Philibert  gave  a  great  leap  for  joy.  Too 
happy  for  speech,  he  rode  on  a  wliile  in  silence. 

"  Amelie  will  have  changed  much  in  appearance?"  he 
asked  at  last.  A  thousand  questions  were  crowding  upon 
his  lips. 

"  Changed  ?  O,  yes  !  "  replied  Le  Gardeur  gaily.  "  I 
scarcely  recognize  my  little  bright-eyed  sister  in  the  tall, 
perfect  young  lady  that  has  taken  her  place.  ]kit  the 
loving  heart,  the  pure  mind,  the  gentle  ways,  and  winning 
omiles  are  the  same  as  ever.     She  is  somewhat  more  still 


PIERRE   P/f/L  I  HER  T. 


8i 


•apicily 
tally  in 
'cplii-'S, 
e    their 
js  boH- 
•equent 
Repen- 
ounded 
T  to  the 

-  in  his 
ss  ques- 
t  degree 
d  a  fear 
so  long 

]ie  reply 
;cu  you, 
r.ut  for 
in  her 
^ht  of  a 
•  saintly 
•c  Phili- 
ne  ever 

Too 

?"  he 
ig  upon 

IV.  "I 
I  he  tall, 

r.ut  the 
|v  inning 

ire  still 


and  llioughlful,  perhaps — more  sirict    in    (he   observances 
of  religion  ;    \-ou  will    renienibei'.     I    nsed    to    call   her  in 
jest  our  Si.  Anielie — 1    iiii:J)l   call  Iii'r  ihal  in  i-arnesl  no 
Pierre,  and  she  would  be  worthv  (»f  the  name!  "' 


w, 


Crod   bless    vou.    Le   (lardeur 


bur.it    out    Colonel 


Philiberl— his  voice  could  nol  reriress  the  emotion    he   t'elt 


— "and   Ciod   bless   Amelie! 
to  see  nie  loclav,  Le  (lardeur 


f; 


ir  aiK 


1  fast. 


aiK 


I  h 


'I'hink   \ou   she  would  ciie 
I'hilibcit's  ihougiits  iLnv 


IS  desire  to  know  moi 


o 


t  AmJhe  wi-.  a. 


rack  of  suspense  to  him.  She  might,  indeed,  ri'colleci  ihe 
youth,  Pierre  Philibert,  thought  he,  as  she  (hi  a  sunbeam 
that  gladdened    long   past   suunnt-is  ;    but    how   couhl    he 


e.xpec 


t   h 


er    to    regiinl 


hi 


m — tlv. 


:frown    m  in  — as    the 


same?     Nav,  was  he  not  lun-sin;'-  a  fatal  fanc\'  in  his  bre  i^t 


that    would    stiuLT    him    to    deatl 


fi 


)r    am  )ii. 


Ik- 


•ly 


and  gallant    throng    about    the    capital    wis    it   not   more 
than   possible — that  so   lowly  and    amiable   a  woman  h  kI 


alreadv  l^een   wooed 


aiu 


;i\'en    tlie    pricele^^    liea-.ure   o 


f 


her  love  to  another ?  ll  was,  therefore,  with  no  com.n on 
feeliuLr  that  Philibert  said,  "Think  \ou  she  will  care  to  see 
me  to-dav,  Le  Gardeur  ?  " 


Care   to   see    vou,    Pierr' 


berl 


W 


tion 


Sh 


at  a  ques- 


e   aiu 


1    Aunt    J)e    I'illv    take    e\'ei\'   occasion    to 


remind  me  of  you,  by  way  of  e.vample,  to  sham  ■  me  of  my 


fault:- 


anc 


1  Ih 


ev   succeed,   too  : 


aiK 


1  thi^ 


s  niomen 


t.    V 


1    could  cut  <^l  m\'  rigiit 
1 


jerre,   that    ii    should   ne\er  liU  win 


again   to    uw    lii)s  ;  and    to   have  been  seen  b\'  \(>a  in  sacli 
company!     What  must  you  think  of  me  '■  " 

"  1  think  vour  reirrel  could  no\.  sur|)ass  nrne.      Pal  t   '1 


me  how  you  ha\'e  been  drawn  into  th 
the  wa'onsi  turn,  Le  (iaideur?" 


es'v 


api; 


aui 


1  U 


Le  (lardeur  winced  as  he  rei)lied,  "  Oh,  I  do  not  kn 


>\v. 


I  found  myself  there  bei(jre  1  thought,  ll  was  ihe  uii, 
wine  and  eiicliantmenl.->  oi  Pig  )t,  f  suppcxse,  and  la.; 
greatest  temptation  in  a\\ — a  woman's  smiles — thai  led  nu 
to  take  the  Wionir  turn,  as  vou  call   it. 


r 


lere— vou   lia\e 


my  confession  I — and  I  woidd  put  my  sword   ihrough  any 
man  but  vou,  Pierre,  who  dared   .isl 


me   to   \s\\Ki  .such   an 


account  of  myself.      I   am   ashamed  of  it  all  Pierre    Piiili- 
bert, ! ' 


Thanks,  Le  Gardeur,  for  vour   confidence.      I    \\ 


o 


pe 


you   will   outride    this   storm!"      lie    held   out   his    hand, 
nervous  and  sinewy  as  that  of  .\Lirs.     Le  Gardeur  seized 


1 


82 


TFIE  ciriE.v  iroR. 


it  and  pressed  it  hard  in  liis.     "  Don't  you  think  it  is  still 
able  to  rescue  a  friend  from  peril  ?  "  added  rhilibert  smil- 


ing. 


Le  Garfhnir  caui^ht  his  meaning;,  and  j^ave  him  a  look 
of  unulti'ral)lc  !j;ratilu(le.  "  IV-side  tins  liand  of  mine  are 
there  not  the  ;;entler  hands  of  Amelie  to  intercede  for  you 
witli  your  better  self,"  said  Philil)ert. 

"  My  dear  sister!"  interjected  Le  CJardeur.  "  I  am  a 
coward  when  I  think  of  her,  and  I  siiame  to  come  into  her 
pure  presence." 

"  Take  courai^e,  Le  (iardeur  !  There  is  hoix;  wliere 
there  is  siiame  of  our  faults.  i>e  eciuallv  frank  with  vour 
sister  as  with  me,  and  sh'j  will  win  vou  in  spite  of  vour- 
self  froni  the  eiuhantinents  (;f  •  Hi^ot,  Cadet,  and  the  still 
more  potent  smiles  you  speak  of  that  led  you  to  take  the 
wron^  turn  in  life." 

"  1  doul)t  it  is  too  late,  Pierre  !  althouu^h  I  know  that, 
were  every  other  friend  in  the  world  to  f(jrsake  me,  Amelie 
would  not !  She  would  not  even  reproach  me,  except  by 
excess  of  affection." 

I'hilibert  looked  on  his  friend  admirinijly,  at  this  pane- 
gyric of  the  woman  he  loved.  Le  Oardeur  was  in  feature 
so  like  his  sister  that  l*hiiil)ert  at  the  moment  caught  the 
very  face  of  An\elie,  as  it  were,  looking  at  him  through  the 
face  of  her  brother.  "  Vou  will  not  resist  her  pleadings, 
Le  Gardeur." — Philibert  tiiought  it  an  impossilile  thing. 
"  No  guardian  angel  ever  clung  to  the  skirts  of  a  siiuier  as 
Amelie  will  cling  to  you,"  said  he  ;  "  therefore  I  have 
every  hopi-  of  n^y  dear  friend  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny." 

'Lhe  two  riders  emerged  from  the  forest  and  drew  up 
for  a  minute  in  front  of  the  hostelry  of  the  Crown  of 
France,  to  water  their  horses  at  the  long  trough  before  the 
door,  and  inform  Dame  IJedard,  who  ran  out  to  greet 
them,  that  M;ister  Pothier  was  following  with  his  ambling 
nag  at  a  gentle  pace,  as  beiitled  the  gravity  of  his  pro- 
fession. 

"  O  !  Master  Pothier  never  fails  to  lind  his  ■•vay  to  the 
Crown  of  France  ;  Init  won't  your  honon,  take  a  cup  of 
wine?  The  day  is  hot  and  the  road  dusty.  '  A  dry  rider 
makes  a  wet  nag,'"  added  the  Dame,  with  a  smile,  as  she 
repeated  an  old  saying,  Iirought  over  with  the  rest  of  the 
butin  in  the  shii^s  of  Cartier  and  Champlain. 

The  gentlemen  bowed  their  thanks,  and  as  Philibert 


riRRRE   PHI  LI  BERT. 


^l 


ilil- 

o(;k 
are 
you 

111  a 
)  her 

k'here 
your 
vour- 
;'  still 
e  the 

r  thAt, 

uiieUe 
:pt  by 

pane- 
eatvire 
ht  the 
rh  the 
(lings, 
thing, 
ncv  as 

have 

igny." 

e\v  up 

i)Nvn  ot 

>re  the 

L!,reet 
nbling 
is  pro- 

to  the 

:up  of 

rider 

[as  she 

of  the 

lilibert 


looked  up,  he  saw  pretty  Zoii  IVdard  poring  over  a  sheet  of 
pai)L*r  l)c-ai"ing  a  red  seal,  and  spelling  out  the  crabbed  law 
text  of  MasU'r  I'othier.  Zoe,  like  other  girls  of  her  class, 
had  received  a  lini:iure  of  learning  in  the  day  schools  of 
the  nuns  ;  iviit,  althougii  the  |)aper  was  lici  marriage  con- 
tract, it  puzzled  iier  greatly  to  pick  out  the  few  chips  of 
plain  sense  that  lioated  in  the  sea  of  legal  verbiage  it  con- 
tained. Zoe,  with  a  perfect  comprehension  of  the  claims 
of  mcum  and  tiiioti,  was  ai  no  loss,  howe\er,  in  arriving  at 
a  satisfactory  solution  of  the  true  merits  of  her  matrimonial 
contract  with  honest  Je;in  La  Chance. 

She  caught  the  eye  (jf  I'hiliberi,  and  blushed  to  the 
very  chin  as  she  hudtlled  awa\'  the  paper  and  returned 
the  salute  of  the  two  handsome  gentlemen,  who,  having 
refreshed  their  horses,  rode  off  at  a  rapitl  trot  down  the 
great  highway  that  led  to  the  cil\'. 

Jjabet  Le  Xocher,  in  a  new  gown,  short  enough  to 
reveal  a  pair  of  shapely  ankles  in  clocked  stockings,  and 
well  clad  feet,  that  would  have  been  the  envy  of  many  a 
Duchess,  sat  on  the  thwart  of  the  boat  knitting.  Her 
black  hair  was  in  the  fashion  recorded  bv  the  grave  I'eter 
Kalm,  who,  in  his  account  of  New  France,  says,  "  The 
peasant  women  all  wear  their  hair  in  ringlets,  and  nice  tlu;y 
look!" 

"  As  \  live  I  "  exclaimed  she  to  Jean,  who  was  enjoying 
a  jjipe  of  native  iobacco,  "  here  comes  that  handsome 
officer  back  again,  and  in  as  jrreat  a  hurrv  to  return  as  he 
was  to  go  up  the  higiiway !  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  IJabet  !  It  is  plain  to  see  he  is  either  on 
the  King's  errand  or  his  own,  A  fair  lady  awaits  his 
return  in  the  cit\',  or  one  has  just  dismissed  him  where  he 
has  been !  Nothing  like  a  woman  to  put  quicksilver  in  a 
man's  shoes — eh  I   iJabet  ? !' 

"  Or  f(K)lish  ihouglUs  into  their  hearts,  Jean  !  "  replied 
she,  laughing, 

"  And  nothing  more  natural,  Babet,  if  women's  hearts 
are  wise  enough  in  their  folly  to  like  our  foolish  thoughts 


ot  \\\ 


em. 


But  there  are  two!     Who  is  that  ridinir  wuh  the 


gemicman  ,-*     Vour  eyes  are  better  tlian  mine,  IJabet !  " 

'' Of  course,  Jean  I  that  is  what  I  alwavs  tell  you,  but 
you  won't  believe  me — trust  my  eyes,  and  doubt  your  own  ! 
The  other  gentleman,"  said  she,  looking  fixedly,  while  her 
knitting   lay    still    in   her  lap,  ''  the  other    is    the  young 


84 


THE  cm  EX  D'OR. 


Clicvalicr  de  Repcnti^nv.  What  ])iinj,^s  him  l)ack  before 
the  rest  of  the  himlini;  part}',  I  wonder?  " 

"  Tliat  offirer  niu^l  ha\e  been  to  InMiiinaiioir,  and  is 
bringinjjf  tlie  yoiin;;  Seii^ntair  back  to  town,"  remarked 
Jean,  pulfmi'j  out  a  loni;  thread  of  ^nioke  fioin  his  Ii])s. 

"  Well,  it  must  be  somethini^  better  than  smoke,  ji'an  !  " 
—  Ilabet  coi^hed  ;  she  never  liked  the  pipe. — "'I'he  }-()uni; 
(^he\aiier  is  always  one  of  tin;  last  to  i;i\e  up  when  they 
have  one  of  their  three  da\s  drinkiuL^  bouts  up  at  the 
(IhAteau.  lb'  is  ,L;oin<j;  to  the  bad.  1  tear — more's  the  [)ity  ! 
Such  a  ni(X',  handsome  fellow,  too  !  '' 

'■  All  lies  and  calumny  I  "  replied  Jean,  in  a  heat, 
"  T.e  (lardeur  de  l\.epenti_:j;ny  is  the  son  of  my  dear  old 
SeiL^mur.  lie  may  ^'et  drunk,  but  it  will  be  like  a  jj^entlc- 
man  if  he  does,  and  not  like  a  carter.  ISabet,  or  like  a — " 

"  boatman  !  jean  ;  but  1  dftn't  include  you — you  ha\'e 
never  bi'en  the  worse  for  drinking  water  since  i  took  care 
of  }our  licjuor,  Jean  !  " 

'*  Aye,  you  are  inioxication  enough  of  yourself  for  mc, 
I'abet.  Two  bright  eyes  like  yours,  a  i:)ipe  and  bitters, 
with  graci;  before  meat,  would  sa\'e  any  C'hristian  man  in 
this  world."  Jean  stood  up  politely  dolTing  his  i-ed  tuque 
to  the  gentlemcM.  Le  (rardeur  stooped  from  his  horse  to 
grasp  his  hand,  f(a"  Jean  had  l>een  an  old  servitor  at  Tilly, 
and  the  young  Seigneur  was  too  noble  minded  and  polite 
to  omit  a  kindlv  notice  of  even  the  humblest  of  liis  ac- 
quaintance. 

'•  \\m\  a  l)usy  day,  Jean,  with  the  old  ferry?"  asked  Le 
Gardeur  cheerily. 

"  No,  your  honor,  but  yesterday  I  think  half  the  country 
side  crossed  over  to  the  city  on  the  King's  C'orve'e.  'The 
men  went  to  work,  and  the  women  followed  to  look  after 
them,  ha  I  ha!"  Jean  winked  provokingly  at  IJabet,  who 
took  him  uj)  shar]:)l\-. 

'■  And  why  should  nc^t  the  women  go  after  tlie  men? 
I  trow  men  are  not  so  plentiful  in  Xew  France  as  they  used 
to  be  before  this  wearv  war  beiran.  It  well  behoves  the 
women  to  take  good  care  of  all  that  are  left." 

"■'That  is  true  as  the  Sunday  sermon,"  remarked  Jean. 
"Why,  it  was  only  the  other  day  1  heard  that  great  foreign 
gentleman,  who  is  the  guest  of  his  Excellency  the  Governor, 
say,  sitting  in  this  very  boat,  'that  there  are  at  this  time 
four  women  to  every  man  in  New  France  ! '     If  that  is  true, 


PIERRE  PfH LIBERT, 


8S 


B.il)ot — and  you  know  Ivj  said  it.  for  you  were  an:^r\-  I'noui^h 
— x  man  is  a  prize  indeed,  in  New  I'rance,  antl  W(jinen  are 
plenty  as  ej^i^s  at  Master  !  " 

I'lic  foieiun  irentlenian  had  nuu  Ii  asstu'ance  to  say  it 

He    wei'e    much    heller   emplowd 

V 


f    it 


-IK 
were   true. 


even    1 

pickiuLj  up  werds  and  [)utluiL;'  tliem  \\\  his  book  !   '  exelami 

ed    liahet,  iiotly. 

"Come!  eome  ! ''  cried  Le  (lardeur,  interruptinLT  this 
dehate  on  the  popuhilion — "  i'rovidence  knows  tlie  worth 
of  CanacUan  women,  and  (:aniu)t  |Li;ive  us  tof)  man}' of  tln'm. 
We  are  in  a  hurry  to  i^i't  to  the  city,  Jean,  so  let  us  embark. 
Mv  Auiu  and  Amelie  are  in  ihe  old  home  in  the  (it)',  they 
will  he  qiad  to  see  you  and  Dabet,"  ailded  he  kindly  as  he 
got  into  the  boat. 

]>al)et  (lroppc:d  her  neatest  courtesy,  and  Jean,  all  alive 
to  his  dut\',  pushed  off  his  boat  bcariirj;  the  two  gentlemen 
and  tlieir  horses,  across  the  broad  St.  ('harles,  to  the  Kind's 
(^uay.  where  they  remounted,  and  ridini.:;  |)ast  the  hu_:;e  pal- 
ace of  the  hitendant.  dashed  up  the  sleep  CV'A'  iiii  C/n\n  and 
throu_u;h  the  City  ijate,  (hsappearini;  from  the  eyes  of  l>abet, 


wh 


o  loo 


ked  \erv  admirinirlv  after  them.  I  K'i-  thoughts  were 


especially   conunendatoi'v   of   the    haiKUome   officir  in  full 

uniform, who  had  been  so  polite  and  _i;enerou>in  tiie  morniuL;. 

"  I  was  afiaid,  Jean,  \'ou  were  i:;oinLj^  to  bluit  out  about 

Mademoiselle  des  Meloi>L'S,"  remarked  I  label   U)    lean  on 


lis  return- 


men  are  so  indiscreet  ai\\a\s. 


Leak\-  boats  I   leak\-  boats  I    ii.ibet  !   no   rowing; 


th 


em 


wiih  a  woman  aboa'xl  !  sure  to  run  on  the  bank,      llul  what 
about    Mademoiselle  des    Meloises  .^  "      Honest    Jean    liad 

an    hour  a^o.  and   been  sorely 


asse 


d  h 


er  o\'er   the   ferr\' 


temjjted  to  inform  Le  (lardeur  of  the  intciX'Siini;-  fact. 

'"What  about  Mademoiselle  d-s  M.'loises.^"  IJabet 
spoke  rather  sharply — "win,  all  (Quebec  knows  that  the 
Sei[;neur  de  Repenti^ny  is  mad  in  love  with  her, 


And 


whv  should  he  not  l)c  mad  in  Icve  with  her  i 


f  hi 


likes?"  replieil  Jean — "■  She  is  a  morsel  fii  for  a  kin^,  and 
if  Le  Gardeur  should  lose  boih  his  heart  and  his  wits  on 
her  account,  it  is  onlv  what  half  the  "allanls  of  ( )uebec 
have  done."' 

"  (Jh,  Jean,  Jean  !  it  is  |)l  lin  to  see  \ou  liave  an  eye  in 
your  head,  as  well  as  a  soft  place  ! ''  ejaculated  Babet,  reconi- 
mencini^  her  knittinci:  with  fresh  vif^or,  and  working  off  the 
fciectricity  that  was  slirrin<;  in  her. 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY    14580 

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I 


86 


T//E  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


"  I  had  two  eyes  in  my  head  when  I  chose  you,  Babet, 
and  the  soft  phice  was  in  my  heart  !  "  repHed  Jean  heartily. 
The  compliment  was  taken  with  a  smile,  as  it  deserved  to 
be.  "  Look  you,  Babet,  I  would  not  f^ive  this  pinch  of  snuff,  ' 
said  Jean,  raising;  his  thumb  and  two  tin<;ers  iiolding  a^ood 
dose  of  the  pungent  dust — "I  would  not  give  this  pinch  of 
snuff  for  any  young  fellow,  who  could  he  indifferent  to  the 
charms  of  such  a  pretty  lass  as  Angelique  des  Meloises  !" 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  you  did  not  tell  the  Seigneur  de  Re- 
pentigny,  that  she  had  crossed  the  ferry  and  gone — not 
to  look  for  him,  I'll  be  bound  !  I  will  tell  you  some- 
thing by  and  by,  Jean  !  if  you  will  come  in  and  eat  your 
dinner,  I  have  something  you  like." 

"What  is  it,  Babet?"  Jean  was  after  all  more  curious 
about  his  dinner  than  about  the  fair  lady. 

"  Oh,  something  you  like, — that  is  a  wife's  secret,  keep 
the  stomach  of  a  man  warm  and  his  heart  will  never  grow 
coid, — what  say  you  to  fried  eels  ?  " 

'*  Bra\  o  !  "  cried  the  gay  old  boatman,  as  he  sang  : 

"Ah!  ah!  ah!  frit  a  I'huile. 
Frit  au  beurre  et  a  I'ognon  I" 

and  the  jolly  couple   danced   into  their  little  cottage — no 
king  and  queen  in  Christendom  half  so  happy  as  they. 


I     I 


CHAPTER  X. 


AlIELIE   DE    REPENTIGNY. 


The  town  house  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  stood  on  the  upper 
part  of  the  Place  d'Armes,  a  broad  roughly  paved  scjuare. 
The  Chateau  of  St.  Louis,  with  its  massive  buildings  and 
high  peaked  roofs  filled  one  side  of  the  square.  On  the 
other  side,  embowered  in  ancient  trees  that  had  escaped 
the  axe  of  Champlain's  hardy  followers,  stood  the  old  fash- 
ioned monastery  of  the  Recollets  with  its  high  belfry,  and 
broad  shady  porch,  where  the  monks  in  grey  gowns  and 
sandals  sat  in  summer,  reading  their  breviaries  or  exchang- 
ing salutations  with  the  passers  b\',  who  always  had  a  kind 
greeting  for  the  brothers  of  St.  Francis. 


AMELIE  DE  REPENTIGNY. 


87 


The  mansion  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  was  of  stone,  spacious 
and  ornate,  as  became  the  rank  and  wealth  of  the  Seij^neurs 
de  Tilly.  It  overlooked  the  Place  d'Arines,  and  the  noble 
gardens  of  the  Chateau  of  St.  Louis,  with  a  mai^nifuent 
sweep  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  flowing  majestically  under  the 
fortress-crowned  cape,  upon  the  high  wooded  hills  of  Lau- 
zon,  the  farther  side  of  the  river  closing  the  view. 

in  the  recess  of  an  ornate  nnillinned  window,  half  con- 
cealed by  the  rich  heavy  curtains  of  a  noble  room,  Amelie 
de  Repentigny  sat  alone  ;  very  quiet  in  look  and  demeanor, 
but  no  little  agitated  in  mind,  as  mi'dit  be  noticed  in  the 
nervous  contact  of  her  hands,  which  lay  in  her  laj)  clasping 
each  other  very  hard,  as  if  trying  to  steady  her  thoughts. 

Her  aunt  was  receiving  some  lady  visitors  in  the 
great  drawing-room.  The  hum  of  loud  feminine  voices 
reached  the  ear  of  Amelie,  but  she  paid  no  atten- 
tion, so  absorbed  was  she  in  the  new  and  strange 
thoughts  that  had  stirred  in  her  mind  since  morning,  when 
she  had  learned  from  tlie  Chevalier  La  Corne  of  the  return 
to  New  France  of  Pierre  Philibert.  The  news  had  sur- 
prised her  to  a  degree  she  could  not  account  for.  Her  first 
thought  was,  how  fortunate  for  her  brother  that  Pierre  had 
returned  ;  her  second,  how  agreeable  to  herself.  Why  ? 
She  could  not  think  why.  She  wilfully  drew  an  inference 
away  from  the  truth  that  lay  in  her  heart.  It  was  wholly 
for  sake  of  her  brother  she  rejoiced  in  the  return  of  his 
friend  and  preserver.  Her  heart  beat  a  little  faster  than 
usual,  that  was  the  result  of  her  long  walk  and  disappoint- 
ment at  not  meeting  Le  Gardeur  on  her  arrival  yesterday. 
But  she  feared  to  explore  her  thoughts — a  rigid  self  exam- 
ination might  discover  what  she  instincti\ely  felt  was  deeply 
concealed  there. 

A  subtle  indefinable  prevision  had  suggested  to  her  that 
Colonel  Philibert  would  not  have  failed  to  nuet  Le  Gardeur 
at  Beaumanoir,  and  that  he  would  undoubtedly  acconijjany 
her  brother  on  his  return  and  call  to  pay  his  respects  to  the 
Lady  de  Tilly,  and — to  herself.  She  felt  her  cheek  glow 
at  the  thought,  yet  was  half  vexed  at  her  own  foolish  fancy, 
as  she  called  it.  She  tried  to  call  upon  her  pride,  but 
that  came  very  laggardly  to  the  relief  of  her  discomposure. 

Her  interview  too  with  Angelicjue  des  Meloises  had 
caused  her  no  little  disquiet,  'i'he  bold  avowals  of  Ange- 
lique  with  reference  to  the  Intendant  had  shocked  Amelie. 


Ill 


88 


TriE  en: EN  d'or. 


She  knew  that  her  brother  had  given  more  of  his  thoughts 
to  lliis  b(niutiful,  reckless  girl  than  was  good  for  his  peace, 
should  her  ambition  ever  run  counter  to  his  love. 

The  fond  sister  sighed  deei^ly  when  she  reflected  that 
the  woman  who  had  power  to  make  prize  of  Le  Gardeur's 
love,  was  not  worthy  of  him. 

It  is  no  rare  thing  for  loving  sisters,  who  have  to  resign 
their  brothers  to  others'  keeping,  to  think  so.  Ikit  Ame- 
lie  knew  that  Angelique  des  Meloises^  was  incapable  of 
that  true  love,  which  only  finds  its  own  in  the  happiness 
of  another.  She  was  vain,  selfish,  ambitious,  and  what 
Amelie  did  not  yet  know,  possessed  of  neither  scruple  nor 
delicacy  in  att;iining  her  objects. 

It  had  chiino.l  the  hour  of  noon  upon  the  old  clock  of 
the  Recollets,  and  Amelie  still  sat  looking  wistfully  over 
the  great  scjuare  of  the  I'lace  d'Armes,  and  curiously  scan- 
ninir  everv  horseman  that  rode  across  it.  A  throng  of 
people  moved  about  the  square,  or  passed  in  and  out  of 
the  great  arched  gale-way  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis.  A 
bright  shield,  bearing  the  crown  and  //tv/r  dc  /ys\  surmount- 
ed (he  gate,  and  under  it  walked,  with  military  pace,  a 
couple  of  sentries,  their  muskets  and  bayfMiets  tiashing  out 
in  tile  sun  everv  tiiue  thev  wheeled  to  return  on  their  beat. 
Occasionally  there  was  a  ruflle  of  drums  ;  the  whole  guard 
turned  out  and  presented  arms,  as  some  officer  of  high 
rank,  or  ecclesiastical  dignitary,  passed  through  to  pay  their 
res]jects  to  the  (Governor,  or  transact  business  at  the  vice- 
regal court,  (ienllemen  on  foot,  with  chapeaux  and  swords, 
carrying  a  cloak  on  their  shoulders ;  ladies  in  visiting 
dress  ;  liabitans  and  their  wives  in  unchanging  costume  ; 
soldiers  in  uniform,  and  black  gowned  clergy,  mingled  in  a 
moving  i)icture  (jf  city  life,  which,  had  not  Amelie's 
thoughts  been  so  pre  occupied  to-day,  would  have  afforded 
her  great  delight  to  look  out  upon. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  had  rather  wearied  of  the  visit  of 
the  two  ladies  of  the  city,  Madame  de  Grandmaison,  and 
Madame  Couillard,  who  had  bored  her  with  all  the  current 
gossip  of  the  day.  They  were  rich  and  fashionable,  per- 
fect in  etiquette,  costume,  and  most  particular  in  their  soci- 
ety. Ikit  the  rank  and  position  of  the  noble  Lady  de 
Tilly  matle  her  frien(lshi|)  most  desirable,  as  it  conferred 
in  the  eyes  of  the  woikl  a  jxitent  of  gentility,  which  held 
good  against  every  pretension  to  overtop  it. 


AMELIE  DE  REPEA'TIGNY. 


89 


The  stream  of  city  talk,  from  the  h'ps  of  the  two  'adies, 
had  the  merit  of  hcini^  pL'rfcct  of  its  kind.  Softly  insiim- 
atinij^,  and  sweetly  censorious,  sujierlative  in  eulogy,  and  in- 
fallible in  opinion.  'I'he  good  visitors  most  conscientious- 
ly dischan^ed  what  they  deemed  a  threat  moral  and  social 
duty,  hv  enli'diteninir  the  Ladv  de  Tillv  on  all  the  recent 
lapses,  and  secrets  of  the  capital.  They  slid  over  slippery 
topics  like  skaters  on  thin  ice,  filling;  their  listener  with 
anxiety  lest  they  should  break  through.  Ikit  A.^idame  de 
Orandmaison  and  her  companion  were  too  well  exercised 
in  the  g\-mnastics  of  gossip,  to  overl)alance  themselves. 
Half  (Quebec  was  run  over,  and  run  down  in  the  course 
of  an  hour. 

Lady  de  Tilly  listened  with  growing  impatience  to  their 
•frivolities,  but  she  knew  society  too  well  to  cjuarrel  with  its 
follies  when  it  was  of  no  service  to  do  so.  She  contented 
herself  with  hojjing  it  was  not  so  bad.  The  Pojje  was  not 
Catholic  enough  to  suit  some  people  ;  but  for  her  part,  she 
had  generally  found  people  better  than  they  were  called. 

A  rather  loud,  but  well  bred  exclamation  of  Madame 
de  Grandmaison,  roused  Amelie  from   her  dav  dream. 

"Not  going  to  the  Intendant's  ball  at  the  Palace! 
My  Lady  de  Tilly!  neither  you  nor  Mademoiselle  de  Re- 
pentigny,  whom  we  are  so  sorry  not  to  have  seen  to-day  ? 
Wliy,  it  is  to  be  the  most  magnificent  affair  ever  got  up  in 
New  Fr;ince.  All  (Quebec  lias  rung  with  nothing  else  for 
a  fortnight,  and  e\'ery  milliner  and  modiste  in  the  city 
has  gone  almost  insane  over  the  superlative  costumes  to  be 
worn  there." 

"  And  it  is  to  be  the  most  select  in  its  character,"  chimed 
in  Madame  Couillard  ;  "all  gen^^ry  and  noblesse,  not  one  of 
the  Hourgt;ois  to  be  invited.  That  class,  especially  the  fe- 
male j)ortion  of  them,  give  themselves  such  airs  now-a- 
days  !  As  if  their  money  matle  them  company  for  people 
of  quality.      They  must  be  kept  down,  I  say,  or — " 

"  And  the  Royal  Intendant  quite  agrees  with  the  gene- 
ral sentiment  of  the  higher  circles,"  responded  Madame  de 
Grandmaison.     "  Ho  is  for  keeping  down — " 

"Noblesse!  Noblesse!"  The  Lady  de  Tilly  spoke 
with  visible  impatience.  "Who  is  this  Royal  Intendant, 
who  dares  cast  a  slight  upon  the  worthy,  honest,  Hourgeoisie 
of  this  city?  Is  he  noble  himself?  Not  that  I  would  think 
worse  of  him,  were  he  not,  but  I  have  heard  it  disputed. 


90 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


I 


He  is  the  last  one  who  should  venture  to  scorn  the  Bour- 
geoisie." 

Miichime  de  Grandin  lison  fanned  herself  in  a  very 
stalely  manner.  "  (^  my  Lady,  you  surely  forgjet!  The 
Chevalier  Bigot  is  a  not  distant  relative  of  the  Count  de 
Marville,  and  the  Chevalier  de  (jrandmaison  is  a  constant 
visitor  at  the  Intendant's  !  But  he  would  not  have  sat  at 
his  table  an  hour,  had  he  not  known  that  he  was  connected 
with  the  nobili..       The  Count  de  Marville — " 

"  The  Count  de  Marville  !  "  interrupted  the  Lady  de  Tilly, 
whose  politeness  almost  gave  way.  "  Truly  a  man  is  known 
by  the  company  he  keeps.  No  credit  to  any  one  to  be 
connected  with  the  Count  de  Marville." 

Madame  de  Grandmaison  felt  rather  subdued.  She 
perceived  that  the  Lady  de  Tilly  was  not  favorably  impress- 
ed towards  the  Intendant.  But  she  tried  again.  *'  And  then 
my  Lady,  the  Intendant  is  so  powerful  at  Court.  He  was 
a  particular  friend  of  Madame  D'Etioles,  before  she  was 
known  at  Court,  and  they  say  he  managed  her  introduction 
to  the  King,  at  the  famous  masked  ball  at  the  HfUel  de 
Ville,  when  His  ALijesty  threw  his  handkerchief  at  her,  and 
she  became  first  ilamc du palais,  and  tiie  Marquise  de  Pompa- 
dour. She  has  ever  remained  his  firm  friend,  and  in  spite 
of  all  his  enemies  could  do  to  prevent  it.  His  Majesty 
made  him  Inlemlant  of  New  France." 

"  In  spite  of  all  the  King's  friends  could  do,  you  mean,'' 
replied  the  Lady  de  Tilly  in  a  tone,  the  sound  of  which 
caught  the  ear  of  Amelie,  and  she  knew  her  aunt  was 
losing  patience  with  her  visitors.  Lady  de  Tilly  heard  the 
name  of  the  Royal  minister  with  intense  disgust,  but  her 
innate  loyalty  prevented  her  speaking  disparagingly  of  the 
King.  "We  will  not  discuss  the  court,  said  she,  nor  the 
friendsiiips  of  this  Intendant.  I  can  only  pray,  his  future 
may  make  amends  for  his  past.  I  trust  New  France  may 
not  have  as  much  reason  as  poor  lost  Acadia,  to  lament 
the  day  of  his  coming  tt)  the  colonies." 

The  two  lady  vistors  were  not  obtuse.  They  saw  they 
had  roused  the  susceptibilities  (prejudices  they  called  them) 
of  the  Lady  de  Tilly.  They  rose,  and  smothering  their 
disappointment  under  well  bred  phrases,  took  most  polite 
leave  of  the  dignified  old  lady,  who  was  heartily  glad  to  be 
rid  of  tliem. 

"  The  disagreeable  old  thing  I  to  talk  so  of  the  Intend- 


AMELIE  DE  REPENTIGNY. 


91 


ant!"  exclaimed  Madame  Couillard,  spitefully.  "When 
her  own  nephew,  and  lieir  in  the  Seii^neury  of  Tilly,  is  the 
Intendant's  firmest  friend  and  closest  companion/' 

'*  Yes,  she  forgot  about  her  own  house,  people  always 
forget  to  look  at  home,  when  they  pass  judgment  upon 
their  neighbors,"  replied  Madame  de  Grandinaison.  "  But 
I  am  mistaken,  if  she  will  be  able  to  iinjjress  Le  (iardeur 
de  Repentigny  with  her  uncharitable,  and  unfashionable 
opinions  of  the  Intendant.  I  hope  the  ball  will  be  the 
greatest  social  success  ever  seen  in  the  city,  just  to  vex  her 
and  her  niece,  who  is  as  proud  and  particular  as  she  is 
herself." 

x\melie  de  Repentigny  had  dressed  herself,  to-day,  in  a 
robe  of  soft  muslin  of  Deccan ;  the  gift  of  a  relative  in 
Pondicherry.  It  enveloped  her  exquisite  form,  without 
concealing  the  grace  and  lissonniess  of  her  movements.  A 
broad  blue  ribbon  round  her  waist,  and  in  her  dark  hair  a 
blue  flower,  were  all  her  adornments,  except  a  chain  and 
cross  of  gold,  which  lay  upon  her  bosom,  the  rich  gift  of  her 
brother,  and  often  ki^^ed  with  a  silent  prayer  for  his  welfare 
and  hapjnness.  More  than  once,  untler  the  induence  of  some 
indefinable  impulse,  she  rose  and  went  to  the  mirror,  com- 
paring her  features  now  with  a  portrait  of  herself,  taken 
as  a  young  girl  in  the  garb  of  a  shepherdess  of  Provence. 
Her  father  used  to  like  that  picture  of  her,  and  to  please 
him,  sh.e  often  wore  her  hair  in  the  fashion  of  Provence. 
She  did  so  to-day.  Why?  The  subtle  thought  in  many 
protean  shapes  played  before  her  fancy,  but  she  would  not 
try  to  catch  it.     No  !  rather  shyly  avoided  its  examination. 

She  was  quite  restless,  and  sat  down  again  in  the  deep 
recess  of  the  window,  watching  the  Place  d'  Amies  for  the 
appearance  of  her  brother. 

She  gave  a  sudden  start  at  last,  as  a  couple  of  officers 
galloped  into  the  sfjuare,  and  rode  towards  the  great  gate 
of  the  Chateau,  one  of  them  she  instantly  recognized  as 
her  brother,  the  other,  a  tall  martial  figure  in  full  uniform, 
upon  a  fiery  grey,  she  did  not  recognize,  but  she  knew  in 
her  heart,  it  could  be  no  other  than  Colonel  Philibert. 

Amelie  felt  a  thrill,  almost  paniful  in  its  i)leasure,  agi- 
tating her  bosom,  as  she  sat  watching  the  gateway  they  had 
entered.  It  was  even  a  momentary  relief  to  her,  that  they 
had  turned  in  there,  instead  of  riding  directly  to  the  house. 
It  gave  her  time  to  collect  her  thoughts,  and   summon   up 


I 


92 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


all  her  fortitude  for  the  cominp^  interview.  Her  finsfcrs 
wandered  down  to  the  rosarv  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  and 
the  j^olden  head,  which  had  so  often  prompted  her  jjrayer 
for  the  happiness  of  Pierre  I'hiHbert,  seemed  to  burn  to  the 
toi  h.  Her  cheek  crimsoned,  for  a  stranjjje  thou.i;ht  sud- 
denly intruded — the  hov  Pierre  IMiilibert.  whose  iniaire  and 
inenK)ry  she  had  so  loni;  and  innocently  cherished,  was  now 
a  man,  a  soldier,  a  councillor,  trained  in  courts  and  camjjs! 
How  unmaidenly  she  had  acted,  forgeling  all  this  in  her 
chiklish  ])rayers  until  this  moment !  "  I  meant  no  harm  !  " 
was  all  the  defence  she  could  think  of.  Nor  had  she  time 
to  think  more  of  heiself,  for  after  remainin<jj  ten  minutes 
in  the  Chateau,  just  lonj;  enousjh  to  see  the  Governor,  and 
deliver  the  answer  of  the  Intendant  to  his  message,  the 
grey  charger  erne  '^KtA  from  the  gate.  His  rider  was  accom- 
panied by  her  brother,  and  the  well  known  tigure  of  her 
godfather  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  who  rode  up  the  hill,  and  in 
a  minute  or  two,  dismounted  at  the  door  of  the  mansion 
of  the  Lady  de  Tilly. 

The  fabled  Lynx,  whose  eye  penetrates  the  very  earth 
to  discover  hidden  treasure,  did  not  cast  a  keener  and 
more  inquisitive  glance  than  that  which  Amc'lie,  shrouded 
behind  the  thick  curtains,  directed  from  the  window  at 
the  tall,  manly  figure,  and  handsome  countenance  of  him 
whoni  she  knew  to  be  Pierre  Philibert.  Let  it  not  detract 
from  her  that  she  gave  way  to  an  irresistible  impulse  of 
womanly  curiosity.  Tb.e  Queen  of  France  would,  under  the 
same  temjjtation,  have  done  the  same  thing,  and  perhaps 
without  feeling  half  the  modest  shame  of  it  that  Amelie 
did.  A  glance  sufficed  ;  but  a  glance  that  impressed  upon 
her  mind  for  ever  the  ineffaceable  and  perfect  image  of 
Pierre  Philibert  the  man,  who  came  in  place  of  Pierre 
Philibert  the  boy  frienci  of  Le  Gardeur  and  of  herself. 


CHAPTER  XL 


THE   SOLDIER  S    WELCOME. 


The  voices  of  the  gentlemen  mingled  with  her  aunt's 
in  eager  greetings.  She  well  knew  which  must  be  the 
voice  of  Colonel  Piiilibert — the  rest  were  all  so  familiar  to 


THE  SOLDIER'S  WELCOME. 


93 


her  ear.  Suddenly  footsteps  ran  up  the  <xraiul  stair, 
clearing;  three  at  a  time.  She  wailed,  trembliiiLi  with  an- 
ticipation, lye  Crardeur  rushed  into  the  room  with  out- 
strctciied  aims,  embraced  her,  and  kissed  her  in  a  trans- 
port of  brotherly  affection. 

"Oh,  Le  Gardeur !  "  cried  she,  returninj^:  his  kiss  with 
fond  affection,  and  looked  in  his  face  with  tenderness  and 
joy.  "()  my  brother,  how  I  have  prayctl  and  lon:;ed  for 
your  cominii^.  'I'hank  (iod !  you  are  here  at  last.  You 
are  well,  brother,  are  you  not  .-*  "  said  she,  looking  up  with 
a  glance  that  seemed  to  betray  some  anxiety. 

"  Never  better,  Amelie,"  replied  he,  in  a  gayer  tone 
than  was  quite  natural  to  hiiu,  and  shyly  averting  his  eyes 
from  her  tender  scrutiny.  "  Never  better.  Why,  if  I  had 
been  in  my  grave  1  should  have  risen  up  to  welcome  a 
friend  whom  I  have  met  to-day  after  years  of  separation. 
Oh,  Amelie,  I  hav^u  such  news  for  you  :  " 

"News  for  me,  Le  Gardeur!  What  can  it  be?"  A 
blush  stole  over  her  countenance,  and  her  bosoiu  heaved, 
for  she  was  very  conscious  of  the  nature  of  the  news  her 
brother  was  about  to  impart. 

''Guess!  you  unsuspecting  queen  of  shepherdesses," 
cried  he,  archly  twisting  a  lock  of  her  hair  that  hung  over 
her  shoulder.     '•  Guess,  you  pretty  gypsy,  you  !  " 

"  Guess  ?  How  can  I  guess,  Le  Gardeur  ?  Can  there 
be  any  news  left  in  the  city  of  (Quebec  after  an  hour's  visit 
from  ALidame  de  Giandmaison  and  ^Lidame  Ojuillard. 
I  did  not  go  down,  but  I  know  they  incjuired  much  after 
you,  by  the  way  !  "  Amelie,  with  a  little  touch  of  feminine 
perversity,  shyly  put  off  the  grand  burst  of  Le  Gardeur's 
intelligence,  knowing  it  was  sure  to  come. 

"  Pshaw  !  who  cares  for  tho?^e  old  scandal-mongers  ! 
But  you  can  never  guess  my  news,  Amelie,  so  I  may  as 
well  tell  you."  Le  Gardeur  fairly  swelled  with  the  an- 
nouncement he  was  about  to  make. 

"  Have  mercy  then,  brother,  and  tell  me  at  once,  for 
you  do  now  set  my  curiosity  on  tip-toe."  She  was  a  true 
woman,  and  would  not  for  anything  have  admitted  her 
knowledge  of  the  presence  of  Colonel  Philibert  in  the 
liouse. 

"Amelie,"  said  he,  taking  her  by  both  hands,  as  if  to 
prevent  her  escape,  "  I  was  at  Beaumanoir,  you  know 
The  Intendant  gave  a  grand  hunting  party,"  added  he,  no- 


94 


THE  CHJEN  D'OR, 


ticing  the  quick  pjlance  she  gave  him,  "and  who  do  you 
think  came  to  the  Chateau  and  reco<;nized  me,  or  rather  I 
reco<j;ni/e(l  him  ?  A  stranger — and  not  such  a  stranger 
either,  Amc'He." 

"  Nay  ;  go  on  brother !  Who  could  this  mysterious 
stranger  and  no  stranger  have  been  ?  " 

"  I'ierre  IMiilibert  !  Ame'lie  !  Pierre — our  Pierre,  you 
know  !     You  recollect  him,  sister  !  " 

*'  Recollect  Pierre  Philibert  ?  Why,  how  could  1  ever 
forget  him  while  you  are  living''  since  to  him  we  are  all 
indebted  for  your  life,  brother  !  " 

•'  I  know  that  ;  are  you  not  glad,  as  I  am,  at  his  re- 
turn ?"  asked  Le  Gardeur,  with  a  jienetrating  look. 

She  threw  her  arms  round  him  involuntarily,  for  she 
was  much  agitafcd.  "Glad,  brother?  Yes,  1  am  glad, 
because  you  are  glad," 

"No  more  than  that,  Amelie  ?  That  is  a  small  thing 
to  be  glad  for." 

"  Oh,  brother!  I  am  glad  for  gladness'  sake  !  We  can 
never  overpay  the  debt  of  gratitude  we  owe  Pierre  Phili- 
bert." 

"  O  my  sweet  sister,"  replied  he,  kissing  her  ;  "  I  knew 
my  news  would  please  you.  Come,  we  will  go  down  and 
see  him  at  once,  for  Pierre  is  in  the  house," 

"  But  Le  Gardeur  !  "  She  blushed  and  hesitated.  "  Pierre 
Philibert  I  knew  ;  I  could  speak  to  him  ;  but  1  shall  hardly 
dare  recognize  him  in  the  stately  soldier  of  to-day.  Voilla 
la  diffcirnce!^''  added  she,  repeating  the  refrain  of  a  song 
very  popular  both  in  New^  France  and  in  Old  at  that  pe- 
riod. 

Le  Gardeur  did  not  comprehend  her  hesitation  and 
tone.  Said  he  :  "  Pierre  is  wonderfully  changed  since  he 
and  I  wore  the  green  sash  of  the  seminary.  He  is  taller 
than  I — wiser  and  better — he  was  always  that ;  but  in 
heart  the  same  generous,  noble  Pierre  Philibert  he  was 
when  a  boy.  Voilla  la  rcssemblance  !  ^''  adtled  he  pulling 
her  hair  archly  as  he  repeated  the  antistrophe  of  the  same 
ditty. 

Amelie  gave  her  brother  a  fond  look,  but  she  did  not 
reply,  except  by  a  tight  pressure  of  the  hand.  The  voices 
of  the  Chevalier  La  Corne  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and 
Colonel  Philibert  were  again  heard  in  animated  conversa- 
tion.    "  Come  brother,  we  will  go    now,"  said  she,  and 


THE  SOLDIER'S  WELCOME. 


95 


1  you 
ther  I 
anger 

:enous 

e,  you 

I  ever 
are  all 

his  re- 
fer she 
n  glad, 

.11  thing 

We  can 

re  Phili- 

\  I  knew 
wn  and 

"  Pierre 
1  hardly 
Voilla 
a  song 
[that  pe- 

tion  and 
ince  he 
Is   taller 
but   in 
he  was 
pulling 
he  same 


did  not 
|e  voices 
|illy  and 

)nversa- 
llie,  and 


quick  in  executing  any  resolution  she  had  formed,  she 
took  the  arm  of  her  hrotlicr,  swept  with  him  down  the 
broad  stair,  and  entered  the  chawing  room. 

rhilibert  rose  to  his  feet  in  admiration  of  the  vision  of 
loveliness  that  suddenlv  beamed  upon  his  eves.  It  was  the 
incarnation  of  all  the  shapes  of  grace  and  beauty  th.it  had 
passed  through  his  fervid  fancy  dining  so  many  \e.irs  of 
absence  from  his  native  land.  Sometlii ng  there  w  is  of 
the  features  of  the  young  girl  who  had  ridden  with  Hyin;^ 
locks  like  a  sprite,  through  the  woods  of  Tilly.  Hut  com- 
paring his  recollection  of  that  slight  girl  with  the  tall,  lithe, 
perfect  womanhood  of  the  half-blushing  girl  before  him,  he 
hesitated  although  intuitively  aware  that  it  could  be  no 
other  than  the  idol  of  his  heart,  Anielie  de  Repentigny. 

Le  Gardeur  solved  the  doubt  in  a  moment  by  exclaim- 
ing, in  a  tone  of  exultation,  "  Pierre  Philibert,  1  bring  aa 
old  young  friend  to  greet  you — my  sister." 

Philibert  advanced  and  Aiuelie  raised  her  dark  eyes 
with  a  momentary  glance,  that  drew  iiUo  her  heart  the  mem- 
ory of  his  face  for  ever.  She  held  out  her  hand  frankly 
and  courteously.  Philibert  bent  over  it  as  reverently  as 
he  would  over  the  hand  of  the  Madonna. 

The  greeting  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  La  Corne  St. 
Luc  had  been  cordial,  nay,  affectionate  in  its  kindness. 
The  good  lady  kissed  Pierre  as  a  mother  might  have  done 
a  long- absent  son. 

"Colonel  Philibert,"  said  Amelie,  straining  her  nerves 
to  the  tension  of  steel  to  preserve  her  composure  ;  "  Colonel 
Philibert  is  most  welcome.  He  has  never  been  forgotten 
in  this  house."  She  glanced  at  her  aunt,  who  smiled  ap- 
provingly at  Amelie's  remark. 

"  Thanks,  Mademoiselle  de  Repentigny ;  I  am,  indeed, 
happy  to  be  remembered  here.  Jt  fulfils  one  of  my  most 
cherished  hopes  in  returning  to  my  native  land." 

"Aye,  aye,  Pierre,"  interrupted  La  Corne  St.  Luc, 
who  looked  on  this  little  scene  very  admiringly,  '"  Good 
blood  never  lies.  Look  at  Colonel  Philibert  there,  with 
the  King's  epaulets  on  his  shoulders.  I  have  a  sharp  eye 
as  you  know,  Ame'lie,  when  I  look  after  my  pretty  god- 
daughter ;  but  I  should  not  have  recognized  our  lively 
Pierre  in  him  had  Le  Gardeur  not  introduced  him  to 
me,  and  I  think  you  would  not  have  known  him  either." 

"  Thanks  for  your  looking  after  me,  godfather,"  replied 


96 


THE  C////uV  irOK. 


Anielie,  merrily,  very  jTmtcfiil  in  licr  heart  for  his  .pprc- 
ciation  of  rierrc,  "  but  I  Ihink  neither  aiiiU  nor  1  sliould 
have  failed  to  recofjni/e  hjni." 

"  Rii;ht,  my  Amelie,"  said  the  Lady  de  Tilly.  "  We 
should  not!  And  we  shall  not  be  afraid,  I'ierre — I  nuist 
call  you  Pierre  or  nothiuLj — we  shall  not  be  afraiil,  although 
you  do  lay  in  a  new  stock  of  ac(|uaintances  in  liie  capital, 
that  old  friends  will  be  put  aside  as  unfashionable  rem- 
nants." 

"  My  whole  slock  of  friendship  consists  of  those  rem- 
nants, my  Lady — memories  of  dear  friends  I  love  and  honor 
— they  will  never  be  unfashionable  with  me.  1  should  be 
bankrupt  indeed  were  I  to  part  with  one  of  them." 

"Then  they  are  of  a  truer  fabric  than  Penelope's  web,  for 
she,  I  read,  pulled  in  jMeces  at  nij^lit  what  she  hail  woven 
throuj^h  the  day,"  replied  Lady  de  Tilly,  "give  me  the 
friendship  that  won't  unravel." 

"But  not  a  thread  o^  my  recollections  has  ever  unravel- 
ed or  ever  will,"  replied  I'ierre  looking  at  An^.elie  as  she 
clasped  the  arm  of  her  aunt,  feeling  stronger  as  is  woman's 
way  by  the  contact  with  another. 

"  Zounds  !  What  is  all  this  merchant's  talk  about  webs 
and  threads  and  thrums,"  exclaimed  La  Corne.  "  There 
is  no  memory  so  good  as  a  soldier's,  Amelie,  and  reason 
good.  A  soldier  on  our  wild  frontiers  is  compelled  to  be 
faithful  to  old  friends  and  old  flannels.  He  cannot  help 
himself  to  new  ones  if  he  would.  I  was  five  years  and 
never  saw  a  woman's  face  excejit  red  ones,  some  of  them 
were  very  comely  by  the  way,"  added  the  old  warrior  with 
a  smile. 

"  The  gallantrv  of  the  Chevalier  La  Corne  is  incon- 
testable,"  remarked  Pierre,  "  for  once  when  we  captured  a 
convov  of  soldiers'  wives  from  New  Enijland,  he  escorted 
them  with  drunis  beating  to  Grand  Pre,  and  sent  a  cask  of 
Gascon  wine  for  them  to  celebrate  their  reunion  with  their 
husbands." 

"  Frowzy  huzzies  !  not  worth  the  keei^ing,  or  I  would 
not  have  sent  them  ;  fit  only  for  the  bobtailed  militia  of 
New  England!  "  exclaimed  La  Corne. 

"  Not  so,  thought  the  New  Englanders,  who  had  a 
three-days  feast  when  they  remarried  their  wives  and  hand- 
some they  were  too,"  said  Philibert.  "The  healths  they 
drank  to  the  Chevlier  were  cnougli  to  make  him  immortal." 


J  t 


Tim  SOLDIER'S  WELCOME. 


97 


T.a  Corne  always  brushed  aside  comi>liiuents  to  liimself. 
"'l"ut  my  l.adyl  it  was  more  l'ierre's.y;(u)(l  nature  than  mine. 
He  out  of  kindness  let  the  wonijii  rejoin  their  husbands, 
on  my  i)arl  il  was  poHcy  atul  strata;j;em  of  war.  Hear  the 
se(|\iel  !  'I'hc  wi\es  spoiled  the  husbands  as  I  <juessed  they 
would  do,  tau<;ht  them  to  be  too  late  at  yf.vciUvc^  too  early 
at  tatoo.  i'hey  ne;^lecleil  {guards  and  pickets,  and  when 
the  long  ni<;hts  of  winter  set  in,  the  meu  hu'i;<j;ed  their  wives 
by  the  firesides  instead  of  their  muskets  by  their  wateh- 
fires.  Then  came  destruction  upon  tiiem  !  In  a  blindinj; 
storm,  amid  snow-drifts  and  darkness,  (loulon  de  \'illiers, 
with  his  troops  on  snow  shoes,  marched  into  the  New  Eng- 
land camp,  and  matle  widows  of  the  most  of  the  poor  wives, 
who  fell  into  our  hands  the  second  time,  i'oor  rreatures! 
1  saw  that  dav  how  h.ird  il  was  to  be  a  soldier's  wife,"  La 
Corne's  shaggy  eyelash  twinkled  with  moisture.  "  Jiut  it 
was  the  fortune  of  war ! — tJie  fortune  of  war,  and  a  cruel 
fortinie  it  is  at  the  best !  " 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  pressed  her  hand  to  lier  bosom  to 
suppress  the  rising  emotion.  "  Alas  !  Chevalier !  poor 
willows  !  I  feel  all  they  -ulTered.  War  is  indeed,  a  cruel 
fortune,  as  I  too  have  had  reason  to  learn," 

"And  what  became  of  the  poor  women,  godfather?'* 
Amelie's  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears.  It  wiis  in  her 
heart,  if  ever  in  any  mortal,  to  love  her  enemies. 

"  Oh,  we  cared  for  them  the  best  we  could.  The  Baron 
de  St.  Castin  sheltered  them  in  his  chateau  for  the  winter, 
and  his  tlaughter  devoted  herself  to  them  with  the  zeal  and 
tenderness  of  a  Saint  from  heaven.  y\  noble,  lovely  girl 
Amelie!"  added  La  Corne,  impressively.  "The  fairest 
flower  in  all  Acadia,  and  jnost  unfortunate,  poor  girl  ! 
God's  blessing  rest  ujjon  her  wherever  she  may  be  !  "  La 
Corne  St.  Luc  spoke  w'lh  a  depth  of  emotion  he  rarely 
manifested. 

"How  WMS  she  unfortunate,  godfather.^"  Philibert 
watched  the  cheek  flush  and  the  eyelid  quiver  of  the  fair 
girl  as  she  spoke,  carried  away  by  her  sympathy.  His 
heart  went  with  his  looks. 

"  Alas  ! "  replied  La  Corne,  "  I  would  fain  not  answer, 
lest  I  distrust  the  moral  government  of  the  universe.  But 
we  are  blind  creatures,  and  Cod's  ways  are  not  fashioned 
in  our  ways.  Let  no  one  boast  that  he  stands,  lest  he  fall  ! 
We  need  the  help  of  the  Host  of  Heaven  to  keep  us  upright, 


98 


THE  CHIEN  LTOR. 


and  maintain  our  integrity-  I  can  scarcely  think  of  that 
noble  girl  without  tears.  Oh,  the  pity  of  it !  The  pity  of 
it!" 

Larly  de  Tilly  looked  at  him  wonderingly,  "  I  knew  the 
Baroii  de  St.  Castin,"  said  she.  "  When  he  came  to  [perform 
homage  at  the  Castle  of  St,  Louis,  for  the  grant  of  some 
lands  in  Acadia,  he  was  accompanied  by  his  only  daughter, 
a  child  perfect  in  goodness,  grace,  and  loveliness.  She  was 
just  die  age  of  Amelie,  'I'he  ladies  of  the  city  were  in 
raptures  over  the  pretty  May-Hower,  as  they  called  her. 
What  in  heaven's  name  has  happened  to  that  dear  child  ? 
Chevalier  La  Corne." 

La  C'orne  St.  Luc,  half  angr)'  with  himself  for  having 
broached  the  jiainful  topic,  and  not  used  to  pic':  his  words 
replied  bluntly.  "  Happened,  my  Lady  ?  What  is  it  hap- 
pens worst  to  a  woman  .?  She  loved  a  man  unworthy  of  her 
love — a  villain  in  spite  of  high  rank  and  King's  favor,  who 
deceived  this  fond,  confiding  girl,  and  abandoned  her  to 
shame  I  Faugh  1  It  is  the  w-ay  of  the  Court,  they  say,  and 
the  King  has  not  withdrawn  his  favor  but  heaped  new 
honors  upon  him  ! "  La  Corne  put  a  severe  curb  upon  his 
vttcrance  and  turned  impatiently  away,  lest  he  might  curse 
the  King  as  well  as  the  favorite. 

"  Kut  what  Ixicame  of  the  poor  deceived  girl  1 "  asked 
the  Lady  de  Tilly,  after  hastily  clearing  her  eyes  with  her 
handkerchief. 

"Oh,  the  old  old  story  followed.  She  ran  away  from 
home  in  an  agony  of  shame  and  fear,  to  avoid  the  return 
of  her  father  from  France.  She  went  amon":  the  Indians 
of  the  St.  Croix  they  say,  and  has  not  been  heard  of  since. 
Poor,  dear  girl  1  her  very  trust  in  virtue  was  the  cause  of 
her  fall  '  " 

Amelie  turned  alternately  pale  and  red  at  the  recital 
of  her  godfather.  She  riveted  her  eyes  upon  the  ground 
as  she  pressed  close  to  her  aunt,  clasping  her  arm,  as  if 
seeking  strength  and  support. 

Lady  de  Tilly  was  greatly  shocked  at  the  sad  recital. 
She  inquired  the  name  of  the  man  of  rank  who  iiad  acted 
so  treacherously  to  the  hapless  girl. 

"  I  will  not  utter  the  name  to-day,  my  Lady  !  It  has 
been  revealed  to  me  as  a  great  secret.  It  is  a  name  too  high 
for  the  stroke  of  the  law  if  there  be  any  law  left  us  but 
the  will  of  a  king^s  mistress  !     God,  however,  has  left  us  the 


THE  SOLDIER'S  WELCOME. 


99 


f  that 
3ity  of 

ew  the 

erforin 
[  some, 
lighter, 
5he  was 
^vere  i« 
led  her. 
r  child  ? 

r  having 
,is  words 
is  it  hap- 
hy  of  her 
vvor,  who 
;d  her  to 
r  say,  and 
iped  new 
0  upon  his 
i<rht  curse 

^\  ? "  asked 
ts  with  her 

laway  fron^ 
Ithe  return 
je  Indians 
a  o£  since, 
le  cause  oi 

Ithe  recital 

|ie  gro^"^^^ 
arm,  as  it 

Lad  recital, 
luad  acted 

■y  I     It  has 
Ine  too  high 
left  us  but 
left  us  the 


law  of  a  gentleman's  sword  to  avenge  its  master's  wrong. 
The  Baron  de  St.  Castin  will  soon  return  to  vindicate  his 
own  honor  and  whether  or  no,  I  vow  to  heaven,  my  Lady, 
tiiat  the  traitor  who  has  wrot^ged  that  sweet  girl,  will  one 
day,  have  to  try  whether  his  sword  be  sharper  than  that  of 
La  Corne  St.  Luc  !  Ikit  pshaw  !  I  am  talking  bravado  like 
an  Indian  at  the  war  post.  l"hc  story  of  those  luckless 
New  England  wives  has  carried  us  beyond  all  bounds." 

La:ly  de  Tilly  looked  admiringly,  without  a  sign  of  re- 
proof at  the  old  soldier,  sympathizing  ".itii  his  honest 
indignation  at  so  foul  a  wrong  to  her  sex.  "  Were  that 
dear  child  mine,  woman  as  I  am,  I  would  do  the  same 
thing  !  "  said  she  with  a  burst  of  feeling.  She  felt  Amelie 
press  her  arm  as  if  she  too  shared  the  spirit  of  her  bolder 
aunt. 

"But  here  comes  Feli.v  Baudoin  to  summon  us  to  din- 
ner !  "  exclaimed  Ladyde  Tilly,  as  an  old  white-he;uled  ser- 
vitor in  livery  appeared  at  the  door  with  a  low  bow, 
announcing  that  dinner  was  served. 

Le  Gardeur  and  La  Corne  St.  Luc  greeted  the  old  servi- 
tor with  the  utmost  kindness,  inquired  after  his  health, 
and  begged  a  pinch  from  his  well-worn  snuff-box.  Such 
familiarities  were  not  rare  in  that  day  betw  ;en  the  gentle- 
men of  New  France  and  their  old  servants,  who  usually 
passed  their  lifetime  in  one  household.  Felix  was  the 
major  domo  of  the  manor  house  of  Tilly,  trusty,  punctili- 
ous, and  jiolite,  and  honored  by  his  mistress  more  as  a 
humble  friend  than  as  a  servant  of  her  house. 

''Dinner  is  served,  my  Lady  !"  repeated  Felix  with  an 
bow.  "  But  my  Lady  must  excuse  !  The  kitchen  has 
been  full  of  habitans  all  day.  The  Trifourchettes,  the 
Doubledents,  and  all  the  best  eaters  in  Tilly  have  been 
here.  After  obeying  my  Lady's  commands  to  give  them 
all  they  could  eat,  we  have  had  difficulty  in  saving  anything 
for  my  Lady's  own  table." 

"  No  matter,  Felix,  we  shall  say  grace  all  the  same.  I 
could  content  myself  with  bread  and  water,  to  give  fish  and 
flesh  to  my  censitaires,  who  are  working  so  willingly  on 
the  King's  corvee  I  But  that  must  he  my  apology  to  you, 
Pierre  Philibeif  nnU'lhe  CUevaiidi-  i;d''fe:orMe  foi'  a  poorer 
mncr  than  I  piUijtj.Wi-^ilj.,^ '■.,.*   ;    :  r  :..  ••■  '  / 

"  Oh,  I  feel  no  misgivings,_my  JLady  ! "  remarked  La 
Come  St.  Luc![;i/iVgiii'i''g,' !'  iwdx^  BaXldoin  ia  too  faithful  a 


lit 


lOO 


THE  cm  EM  D'OR. 


servitor  to  starve  his  mistress  for  the  sake  of  the  Trifoiir- 
chettes,  the  Doubledents  and  all  the  best  eaters  in  the 
Scij^ncurie  !  No  no  1  will  be  bound  your  Ladyship  will 
find  I'Y'lix  has  tolled  and  tithed  from  them  enou^rh  to 
secure  a  dinner  for  us  all — come,  Amclie  with  me." 

Lady  de  Tilly  took  the  arm  of  Colonel  Philibert,  fol- 
lowed by  Le  (iardeur,  La  Corne  and  Amelie,  and,  mar- 
shalled by  the  major  domo,  proceeded  to  the  dininj^j  room — 
a  large  room,  wainscotted  with  black  walnut,  a  fine  wood 
latch'  introduced.  The  ceiling  was  coxed, and  surrounded  by 
a  rich  frieze  of  carving.  A  large  table,  suggestive  of  hos- 
pitality, was  covered  with  di apery  of  the  snowiest  linen, 
the  product  of  the  spinning-wheels  and  busy  looms  of  the 
women  of  the  Seigneurie  of  'I'illy.  Vases  of  china,  filled 
with  freshly  gathered  tlowers,  shed  sweet  jx^rfumes,  while 
they  delighted  the  eye  with  their  beauty,  etherializing  the 
elements  of  bread  and  meat  by  suggestions  of  the  poetry 
and  ideals  of  life.  A  grand  old  buffet,  a  prodigy  of  cabi- 
net-maker's art,  displayed  a  mass  of  family  plate,  and  a 
silver  shield  embossed  with  the  arms  of  Tillv,  a  <rift  of 
Henry  of  Navarre  to  their  ancient  and  loyal  house,  hung 
upon  the  wall  over  the  buffet. 

In  spite  of  the  'J'rifourchettes  and  the  Doubledents, 
Felix  IJaudoin  had  managed  to  set  an  excellent  dinner 
upon  the  table  of  his  Lady,  who  looked  archly  at  the  Che- 
valier La  Corne,  as  if  assenting  to  his  remark  on  her  old 
servitor. 

The  Ladv  remained  standing  at  the  head  of  her  table 
until  they  all  sat  dowm,  when,  clasping  her  hands,  she  re- 
ciied  with  feeling  and  clearness  the  old  Latin  grace : 
"  J3cnr(/it,  Domi/ic,  nos  et  Jucc tua  dona,''^  sanctif\ing  her  table 
by  the  invocation  of  the  blessing  of  God  upon  it  and  upon 
all  who  sat  round  it. 

A  soup,  rich  and  savory,  was  the  prelude  to  all  din- 
ners in  New  France.  A  salmon  speared  in  the  shallows 
of  the  Chaudiere,  and  a  dish  of  blood-speckled  trout, 
from  the  mountain  streams  of  St.  Joachim,  smoked  upon 
the  board.  Little  oval  loaves  of  wheaten  bread  were 
piled  up  in  baskets  of  silver  filigree.  For  in  those 
day--    the   lieldsor'iVew-  Frlnco    pftJducfeVl   crops   of  the 

\vlr.ch ,   lV)vvdenf:e     has     since 


i'':tt- 


g\n 


finest     wl 

withheld.       "The   whent    went,  away  with    the    Bourbon 

lilies,  and  never- grev/  aftcr.vi:rils;"  '^aM  the  old  lidbitans. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  WELCOME, 


lot 


four- 
n  the 
5  will 
rh  to 

■I,  fol- 
,  niar- 
)om — ■ 
;  wood 
[led  by 
){  hos- 
linen, 
of  the 
1,  mied 
s,  while 
ing  the 
;  poetry 
of  cabi- 
,  and   a 
a  gift  of 
se,  hung 

)ledents, 
dinner 
.he  Che- 

i\er  old 

ler  table 
she  re- 
grace  : 
her  table 
]iul  upon 

all  din- 
Ihallows 
|l   trout, 
fd  upon 
id  were 
those 
of  the 
since 
|»,nn-bon 
Xibitans, 


The  meat  in  the  larder  had  all  really  been  given  to  the 
hungry  censitaires  in  the  kitchen,  except  a  capon  from  die 
Bixs'ic  coiir  of  'rilly,  and  a  slanding  pie,  the  contents  of 
which  came  from  the  manorial  dove  '^ote.  A  reef  of  rasp- 
berries, red  as  corals,  gathered  on  the  tangled  sloj^es  of 
Cote  h.  Bonhomme,  formed  the  dessert,  with  blue  whortle- 
berries from  Cape  'i  ourment.  Plums,  sweet  as  honey 
drops,  and  small.  gre\'-coated  apjjles  from  IJeaupre,  deli- 
cious as  those  that  comforted  the  Rose  of  Sharon.  A  few 
carafes  of  choice  wine  from  the  old  manorial  cellar,  com- 
pleted the  entertainment. 

The  meal  was  not  a  protracted  one,  but  to  Pierre  Phili- 
bert  the  most  blissful  hour  of  his  life.  He  sat  bv  the  side 
of  Amelie,  enjoying  every  moment  as  if  it  were  a  pearl 
dropped  inlo  his  bosom,  by  word,  look  or  gesture  of  the 
radiant  girl  who  sat  beside  him. 

He  found  .Amc'lie,  although  somewhat  timid  at  first 
to  converse,  a  willing,  nay  an  eager  listener.  She  was 
attracted  by  the  magnetism  of  a  noble,  sympathetic  nature, 
and  by  degrees  ventured  to  cast  a  glance  at  the  handsome, 
manlv  countenance  where  feature  after  feafare  re\ealed 
itself,  like  a  landscape  at  dawn  of  day.  and  in  Colonel  Phil- 
ibert  she  recognized  the  very  looks,  speech  and  manner  of 
Pierre  Philibert  of  old. 

Her  questioning  eyes  haidly  needed  the  interpretation 
of  her  tongue  to  draw  him  out  tolmiiart  the  story  of  his  life 
durin[T  his  loni^  absence  from  New  France,  and  it  was  with 
secret  delight  she  found  in  him  a  jjowerful,  cultivated  intel- 
lect and  nobility  of  sentiment  such  as  she  rightly  supposed 
belonged  only  to  a  great  man,  while  his  visible  pleasure  at 
meeting  her  again  tii  xl  her  with  a  secret  joy  that,  unno- 
ticed by  herself,  suffused  her  whole  countenance  with  ra- 
diance, and  incited  her  to  converse  with  him  more  freely 
than  she  had  thought  it  possible,  when  she  sat  doA'n  at 
table. 

"  It  is  long  since  we  all  sat  together,  Mademoiselle,  at 
the  table  of  your  noble  aunt,"  lemarked  Philibert.  "  It 
fulfills  an  often  and  often  reiieated  day  dream  of  mine,  that 
I  should  one  day  find  von  just  the  same." 

"And  do  you  find  me  just  the  same  ? "  answered  she, 
archly,  "You  take  down  the  pride  of  ladyhood  immensely, 
Colonel  !  I  had  imagintd  I  was  something  quite  other  than 
the  wild  child  of  Tillv  !  " 


ii 


P 


f 
i 

j 

] 

,'              i 
i; 

•       I 

^ 

if 


'    ■  I 


102 


T//E  CHTEN-  D'OR. 


"  I  hardly  like  to  consider  you  as  in  the  pride  of  lady- 
hood. Mademoiselle,  for  fear  I  should  lose  the  wild  child 
of  Tilly,  whom  I  shouh'  he  so  cjlad  to  find  again." 

"And  whom  you  do  find  just  the  same  in  heart,  mind 
and  regard  too  !  "  thought  she  to  herself,  but  her  words 
■were  :  "  My  school  mistresses  would  be  ashamed  of  their 
work,  Colonel,  if  they  had  not  improved  on  the  very  rude 
material  my  aunt  sent  them  up  from  Tilly  to  manufacture 
into  a  fine  lady  !  I  was  the  crowned  queen  of  the  year 
when  I  left  the  Ursulines  !  So  beware  of  considering  me 
'the  child  of  Tilly'  any  longer." 

Her  silvery  laugh  caught  his  heart,  for  in  that  he  recog- 
nized vividly  the  gay  \-oung  girl  whose  image  he  was  every 
instant  developing  out  of  the  tall,  lovely  woman  beside 
him. 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  and  the  Lr.dy  de  Tilly  found  a  thou- 
sand delights  in  mutual  reminiscences  of  the  past.  Le 
Gardeur,  somewhat  heavy,  joined  in  conversation  with  Phil- 
bert  and  his  sister.  Amelie  guessed  and  Philibert  knew 
the  secret  of  Le  Gardeur's  dullness.  Both  strove  to  en- 
liven and  arouse  him,  his  aunt  guessed  too,  that  he  had 
passed  the  night  as  the  guests  of  the  Intendant  alwiv^ 
passed  it,  and  knowing  his  temper  and  the  regard  he  f.ad 
for  her  good» opinion,  she  brought  the  subject  of  the  In- 
tendant into  conversation,  in  order,  casually  as  it  were,  t") 
impress  Le  (iardeur  with  her  opinion  of  him.  Pierre  I'hil- 
ibert,  too,  thought  she,  shall  be  put  upon  his  guard  against 
the  crafty  Bigot. 

"  Pierre,"  said  she,  "  you  are  happy  in  a  father  who  is 
a  brave,  honoral)]e  man,  of  whom  any  son  in  the  wo-hl 
might  be  proud.  The  country  holds  by  him  immensely, 
and  he  deserves  their  regard.  Watch  over  him  now  vou 
are  at  home,  Pierre.  He  has  some  relentless  and  power- 
ful enemies  who  would  injure  him  if  they  could. 

"That  has  he."  remarked  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  "  I  have 
spoken  to  the  Sieur  Philibert,  and  cautioned  him,  but  he 
is  not  impressible  on  the  subject  of  his  own  safety.  The 
Intendant  spoke  savagely  of  him  in  public  the  other  day." 

''Did  he,  Chevalier?"  replied  Philibert,  his  eyes  Hash- 
ing with  another  fire  than  that  which  had  filled  them  look- 
ing at  Amelie,  "  He  shall  account  to  me  for  his  words,  were 
he  Reirent  instead  of  Intendant  I  " 


THE  SOLDIER'S  WELCOME. 


103 


iiilcl 

lincl 

ords 

:he\r 

riule 

:ture 

year 

(T  me 

O 

ecog- 
every 
)eside 

thou- 
:.     T.e 

,1  Phil- 
knew 
to   en- 
le  had 

aUviv'^ 

Ihe  l-.ad 

he   In- 

ere.  t  1 
re  iMiil- 
;alnst 

^vho  is 

wo-Ul 

;nsely, 

Iw  you 

Ipower- 

have 
but  he 
The 
av. 
rtash- 
11  look- 
is,  were 


La  Come  St.  Luc  looked  half  approvin<;ly  at  Philihert. 

"Don't  quarrel  with  him  yet,  Pierre!  You  caimot 
make  a  quarrel  of  what  he  said,  yet." 

Lady  de  Tilly  listened  uneasily  and  said  : 

'•  Don't  quarrel  with  him  at  all,  Pierre  Philibert !  Judjj;e 
him  and  avoid  him  as  a  christian  man  should  do.  God  will 
deal  with  lii<;ot  as  he  deserves.  The  crafty  man  will  be 
cau'jjht  in  his  own  devices  some  dav." 

"  Oh,  Bigot  is  a  gentleman,  aunt,  too  polite  to  insult  any 
one,"  remarked  Le  Gardeur,  impatient  to  defend  one 
whom  he  regarded  as  a  friend.  "  He  is  the  prince  of  good 
fellows,  and  not  crafty,  I  think,  but  all  surface  and  sun- 
shine." 

"  You  never  explored  the  depths  of  him,  Le  Gardeur," 
remarked  La  Corne.  "  I  grant  he  is  a  gay,  jesting,  drink- 
ing and  gambling  fellow  in  company  ;  but,  trust  me,  he  is 
deep  and  dark  as  the  Devil's  cave  that  1  have  seen  in  the 
Ottawa  country.  It  goes  story  under  story,  deeper  and 
deeper,  until  the  imagination  loses  itself  in  contemplating 
the  bottondess  pit  of  it.     That  is  Bigot,  Le  Gardeur." 

"  My  censitaires  report  to  me,"  remarked  the  Lady  de 
Tilly,  "that  his  commissaries  are  seizing  the  very  seed-corn 
of  the  country.  Heaven  knows  what  will  become  of  my 
poor  people  next  year  if  the  war  continue?  " 

*'  What  will  become  of  the  Province  in  the  hands  of 
Fran(;ois  ]>igot?"  replied  La  Corne  St.  Luc.  "They  say, 
Philibert,  that  a  certain  great  lady  at  court,  who  is  his  part- 
ner or  patroness,  or  both,  has  obtained  a  grant  of  your 
father's  sequestered  estate  in  Normandy,  for  her  relative, 
the  Count  de  Marville.  Had  vou  heard  of  that,  Philibert.-* 
It  is  the  latest  news  from  France." 

"  Oh  yes.  Chevalier  !  Ill  news  like  that  never  misses 
the  mark  it  is  aimed  at.  The  news  soon  reached  my 
father ! " 

"  And  how  does  your  father  take  it  ?  " 

"  My  father  is  a  true  philosopher.  He  takes  it  as  Soc- 
rates might  have  taken  it.  He  laughs  at  the  Count  de 
Marville,  who  will,  he  says,  want  to  sell  tlie  estate  be-fore 
the  year  is  out,  to  pay  his  debts  of  h'^nor — the  only  debts 
he  ever  does  pay." 

"  If  Bigot  had  anything  to  do  with  such  an  outrage," 
exclaimed  Le  Gardeur  warmly,  "  I  would  renounce  him  on 
the  spot.     I    have   heard    Bigot   speak  of  this  gift   to  De 


■  i 

1 

If 

i 

li 

II 


104 


THE  CIIIEN  DOR. 


Marville,  whom  he  hates.     He  says  it  was  all   La  Pompa- 
dour's (loins:;  fmni  first  to  last,  and  I  believe  it." 

"  Well,"  remarked  La  Corne,  "  Bigot  has  plenty  of  sins 
of  his  own  to  answer  i^x  to  the  Sieur  Philibcrt,  on  the  day 
of  acconipt,  withcnit  reckoning  this  among  them." 

The  loud  report  of  a  cannon  shook  the  windows  of  the 
room,  and  died  away  in  long  repeated  echoes  among  the 
distant  liills. 

"  That  is  the  signal  for  the  Council  of  War,  my  Lady," 
said  La  Corne.  "  A  soldier's  luck !  just  as  we  were  going 
to  have  music  and  heaven,  we  are  summoned  to  field,  carnp 
or  council." 

The  gentlemen  rose  and  accompanied  the  ladies  to  the 
drawing-room,  and  prepared  to  depart.  Colonel  Philibert 
took  a  courteous  leave  of  the  ladies  of  Tilly,  looking  in  the 
eyes  of  Anielie  for  something,  which,  had  she  not  turned 
them  quickly  upon  a  vase  of  flowers,  he  might  have  found 
there.  She  plucked  a  few  sprays  from  the  bouquet  and 
handed  them  to  him,  as  a  token  of  pleasure  at  meeting 
him  again  in  his  own  land. 

"  Recf)llecl,  i*ierre  Philibert  !  "  said  the  Lady  de  Tilly, 
holding  him  cordially  by  the  hand,  "The  manor  house  of 
Tilly  is  your  second  homo,  where  you  are  ever  welcome," 

Philibert  was  deeply  t(»uched  by  the  genuine  and  state- 
ly courtesy  of  the  lady.  He  kissed  her  hand  with  grate- 
ful reverence  and  bowing  to  both  the  ladies,  accompanied 
La  Corne  St,  Luc  and  Le  Gardeur  to  the  castle  of  St. 
Louis. 

Amelie  sat  in  the  recess  of  the  window,  resting  her 
cheek  upon  her  tremulous  hand,  as  she  watched  the  gentle- 
men proceed  on  their  way  to  the  castle.  Her  mind  was. 
overflowing  with  thoughts  and  fancies,  new,  enigmatical, 
yet  delightful.  Her  nervous  manner  did  not  escape  the 
loving  eye  of  her  aunt,  but  she  spoke  not.  She  w.is  silent 
under  the  burthen  of  a  secret  joy  that  found  not  vent  in 
words. 

Suddenly  Amelie  rose  from  the  window  and  seated  her- 
self, in  her  impulsive  way,  at  the  organ.  Her  fingers 
touched  the  keys  timidly  at  first  as  she  began  a  treml)ling 
prelude  of  her  own  fantasy.  In  music  her  pent  up  feel- 
ings found  congenial  expression.  The  fire  kindled  and 
she  presently  burst  out  with  the  voice  of  a  seraph  in  that 
glorious  psalm  :  the  116th, 


THE  CASTLE  OF  ST  LOUIS. 


I  OS 


111  pa- 
sing 
;  day 

f  the 
r  the 

ady," 
going 
camp 

to  the 
ililjert 
in  the 
turned 
found 
et  and 
leeting 

^  Tilly, 
)use  of 
ime. 
[  state- 

grate- 
panied 

of   St. 

hg  her 
kentle- 
Ed  was . 
lalical, 
be  the 
silent 
lent  in 

Ll  her- 
lingers 
pbling 
t  feel- 
]l  and 
In  that 


Toto  pectore  diligam 
Unice  ct  Domimiin  colam, 
Qui  lenis  milii  supplici 
Nun  duram  appulit  aurcm. 

Aurem  qui  mihi  supplici, 
Non  duram  dcdit ;  hunc  ego 
Donee  pfctora  spiritus 
Pulsct  semper,  Amabo. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly,  half  guessing  the  truth,  would  not 
wound  the  susceptibilities  of  her  niece  by  appearing  co  do 
so,  rose  quietly  from  her  seat  and  placed  her  arms  .  ently 
round  Amelie  when  she  finished  the  psalm.  She  pressed 
her  to  her  bosom,  kissed  her  fondly,  and  without  a  word 
left  her  to  find  in  music  relief  from  her  hiifh-wrou<rht  feel- 
iiigs.  Her  \'  ice  rose  in  sweeter  and  loftier  harmoifies  to 
the  pealing  ol  the  organ  as  she  sang  to  the  end,  the  joyful 
yet  solemn  psalm  in  a  version  made  for  Queen  Mary  of 
France  and  Scotland,  when  life  was  good,  hope  all  bright- 
ness, and  dark  days  as  if  they  would  never  come. 


CHAPTER  Xir. 


THE    CASTLE    OF   ST.    LOUIS. 


The  Count  de  la  Galissonnibre,  with  a  number  of  oili^ers 
of  rank,  in  full  uniform,  were  slowly  pacing  up  and  down 
the  long  gallery  that  fronted  the  castle  of  St.  Louis,  w.dt- 
ing  for  the  council  of  war  to  open,  for  although  th(!  hour 
had  struck,  the  Intendant,  and  many  other  high  officials  of 
the  Colony,  had  not  yet  arrived  from  Beaumanoir. 

The  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  a  massive  structure  of  stone, 
with  square  flanking  towers,  rose  loftily  from  the  brink  of 
the  precipice,  overlooking  the  narrow,  tortuous  streets  of 
the  lower  town.  The  steeple  of  the  old  Church  of  Notre 
Dame  des  Victoires,  with  its  gilded  vane,  lay  far  beneath 
the  feet  of  the  observer  as  he  leaned  over  the  balustrade 
of  iron  that  guarded  the  gallery  of  tiie  chateau. 

A  hum  of  voices  and  dense  sounds  rose  up  from  the 
market  of  Notre  Dame,  and  from  the  cjuay  where  ships  and 
bateaux  were  moored.     The  cries  of  sailors,  carters  and 


°- ,  i|  'HBUJaW— 


106 


THE  CniRN  D'OR. 


S      i 


hahilivis  in  thick  medley  floated  up  tlie  steep  cliflfs,  pleas- 
ant sounds  to  the  ear  of  tlie  worlhv  Governor,  who  liked 
the  honest  noises  of  industry  and  labor  better  than  all  the 
music  of  the  Academy. 

A  few  merchantmen  which  had  run  the  blockade  of  the 
English  cruisers  lay  at  anchor  in  the  stream,  where  the 
broad  river  swept  majeslically  round  the  lofty  cape.  In 
the  midst  of  them  a  newly  arrived  King's  ship,  the  Flcur'  de 
■Lys^  decorated  with  streamers,  floated  proudly  like  a  swan 
among  a  flock  of  teal. 

Le  Gardeur,  as  an  officer  of  the  garrison,  went  to  report 
himself  to  the  military  commandant,  while  La  Corne  St. 
Luc  and  Colonel  Philibert,  proceeded  to  the  gallery,  where 
a  crowd  of  officers  were  now  assembled,  waiting  for  ♦^he 
Council. 

The  Governor  at  once  called  Philibert  aside,  and  took 
his  arm.  "  Philibert,"  said  he,  *'  I  trust  you  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  finding  the  Intendant  ?  " 

"  No  difficulty,  whatever,  your  Excellency.  I  discov- 
ered the  Intendant  and  his  friends,  by  ear,  long  before  I 
got  sight  of  them."  An  equivocal  smile  accompanied 
Philibert's  words,  which  the  Governor  rightly  interpreted. 

"  Ah  !  I  understand,  Philibert,  they  were  carousing  at 
that  hour  of  daylight  ?  Were  they  all — .-'  Faugh  !  I  shame 
to  speak  the  word.  Was  the  Intendant  in  a  condition  to 
comprehend  my  summons  ?  "  The  Governor  looked  sad, 
rather  than  surprised  or  angry — for  he  had  expected  no 
less  than  Philibert  had  reported  to  him 

"  I  found  him  less  intoxicated,  1  think,  than  many  of 
his  guests.  He  received  your  message  with  more  polite- 
ness than  I  expected,  and  promised  to  be  here  punctually 
at  the  hour  for  opening  the  Council." 

"  Oh,  P)igot  never  lacks  politeness,  drunk  or  sober  :  that 
strong  intellect  of  his,  seems  to  defy  the  power  of  wine,  as 
his  heart  is  proof  against  moral  feeling.  You  did  not  pro- 
long your  stay  in  Beaumanoir,  I  fancy  ?  "  remarked  the 
Governor,  dinting  the  point  of  his  cane  into  the  floor. 

"  I  hastened  out  of  it  as  I  would  out  of  hell  itself ! 
After  making  prize  of  my  friend  De  Repentigny,  and 
bringing  him  off  with  me,  as  I  mentioned  to  you,  1  got 
quickly  out  of  the  Chateau." 

"  You  did  rightly,  Philibert  ;  the  Intendant  is  ruining 
half  the  young  men  of  birth  in  the  Colony.'" 


THE  CASTLE  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


107 


that 
Ine,  as 
]t  pro- 
Id  the 

Itself ! 

and 

Igot 


lining 


"  He  shall  not  ruin  Le  Gardeur  if  I  can  save  him," 
said  Piiilibert,  rosoliitely.  "  May  I  count  upon  your  Ex- 
cellency's co-operation?"  aflded  he. 

"Assuredly,  Philibert  !  Command  me  in  anything  you 
can  devise,  to  rescue  that  noble  young  fellow  from  t!ie  fatal 
companionship  of  Higot.  lUil  I  know  not  how  long  I  sliall 
be  permitted  to  remain  in  New  France  :  powerful  intrigues 
are  at  work  for  my  removal  !  "  added  the  Governor.  "  I 
care  not  for  the  removal,  so  that  it  be  not  accompanied 
with  insult." 

"Ah  !  you  have  received  news  to-day  by  the  frigate?" 
said  Philibert,  looking  down  at  the  King's  siiip  at  anchor 
in  the  stream. 

"  News  !  yes,  and  such  news,  Philibert,"  replied  the 
Governor,  in  a  tone  of  despondency.  '*  It  needs  the  wis- 
dom of  Solon  to  legislate  for  this  land,  and  a  llercules  to 
cleanse  its  Augean  stables  of  otlicial  corruption.  Hut  my 
influence  at  Court,  is  nil  ;  you  know  that,  Philibert  ?  " 

"  But  while  you  are  Governor,  your  advice  ought  to 
prevail  with  the  King,"  replied    Philibert. 

"My  ad\ice  prevail  !  listen,  Philibm-t :  my  letters  to  the 
King  and  the  Minister  of  Marine  and  Colonies,  have  been 
answered  by  whom,  think  you?  " 

"  Nay,  1  cannot  conceive  who,  out  of  the  legal  channel, 
would  dare  to  reply  to  them.  " 

"  No  !  no  man  could  guess,  that  my  official  despatches 
have  been  answered  by  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour  !  She 
replies  to  my  despatches  to  my  sovereign  !  " 

"La  Pompadour!"  exclaimed  Philibert  in  a  burst  of 
indignation  ;  "  She  !  the  King's  mistress,  reply  to  your 
despatches  !  Has  France  come  to  be  governed  by  courte- 
sans, like  imperial  Rome  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  and  you  know  the  meaning  of  that  insult, 
Philibert  !  They  desire  to  force  me  to  resign  ;  and  I  shall 
resign  as  soon  as  1  see  my  friends  safe.  1  will  serve  the 
King  in  his  fleet,  but  never  more  in  a  colony.  This  poor 
land  is  doomed  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  its  enemies, 
unless  we  get  a  speedy  peace.  France  will  help  us  no 
more  ! " 

"  Don't  say  that,  your  Excellency  !  France  will  surely 
never  be  untrue  to  her  children  in  the  New  World  !  But 
our  resources  are  not  yet  all  exhausted  :  we  are  not  driven 
to  the  wall  yet,  your  Excellency  !  " 


io8 


THE  Cn/F.V  D  OR. 


"Almost,  I  as.surc  you,  ThilibLMt !  lUit  we  shall  under- 
stand that  better  after  the  (louncil. 

"What  say  the  despatches  touchinpf  the  ncjj^otiations 
goin*;  on  for  peace  ?  "  asked  IMiilibert,  who  knew  how  true 
were  the  (lovcrnor's  vaticinations. 

"  They  speak  favorably  of  peace,  and  I  think  correctly, 
Philibert  ;  and  you  know  the  Kin<2^'s  armies  and  the  Kinjjj's 
mistresses  cannot  all  be  maintained  at  the  same  time — 
women  or  war,  one  or  other  must  i^ive  way — and  f)ne  need 
not  doubt  which  it  will  hi',  when  the  women  rule  Court  and 
camp  in  iMance,  at  the  same  time  !  " 

'I'o  think  that  a  woman  picked  out  of    the  j:jutters  ot 


Paris,  should   rule    l-'iance,  and 


mswer  your  des 


pit 


che^ 


said  I'hiliberl,  ani;rily  ;  **  it  is  enoui^h  to  drive  honor.ible 
Frenchmen  nuul.  lUit  what  says  the  Martjuise  de  Pompa- 
dour ? " 

"  She  is  specially  severe  upon  my  opposinj;  the  fiscal 
measures  and  connnercial  policv,  as  she  calls  it,  of  her 
friend,  the  Inlendant  !  She  approves  of  his  <2^rant  of  a 
monopoly  of  trade,  to  the  Grand  Company,  and  disputes 
my  right,  as  (rovernor,  to  interfere  with  tiie  Intendant  in 
the  finances  of  the  Colonv." 

Philibert  felt  deeply  this  wound  to  the  honor  and  di'^iiity 
of  his  chief.      He  pressed  his  hand   in  warmest  sympathy. 

The  (governor  understood  his  feelings.  "  V'ou  are  a 
true  friend,  Philibert,"  said  he  ;  "  Ten  men  like  you  might 
still  save  this  colony  !  But  it  is  past  the  hour  for  the 
Council,  antl  still  Pigot  delays  !  He  must  have  forgotten  my 
summons." 

"  1  think  not — but  he  might  have  to  wait  until  Cadet, 
Varin,  Deschenaux.  and  the  rest  of  them,  were  in  a  con- 
dition lit  to  travel,"  answered  Philibert  with  an  air  of  dis- 
gust. 

'•  O  Philibert  !  the  shame  of  it!  the  shame  of  it  !  for 
such  thieves  to  have  the  ri'^-ht  to  sit  among  loval,  honor- 
able  men,"  exclaimed,  or  rather  groaned,  the  Governor. 
" 'i'hey  have  the  real  |)ower  in  New  France,  and  we  the 
empty  title  and  the  killing  res]-)onsibilit\' !  Dine  with  me 
to-night,  after  the  Council,  Philibert  ;  I  have  much  to  say 
to  you." 

"  Not  to-night,  your  Excellency  !  My  father  has  killed 
the  fatted  calf  for  his  returned  prodigal,  and  I  must  dine 
with  him  to-night,"  answered  Philibert. 


THE  CASTLE  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


109 


*'  Ri^Mit  !  He  it  to-morrow,  th(Mi  !  Come  011  Wedm'sd  ly," 
replied  the  (iovenior.  "  Your  father  is  ;i  jjentleman  who 
carries  the  principles  of  true  nobility  into  the  walks  of 
trade  ;  you  are  happy  in  sucii  a  father,  I'hilihert,  as  he  is 
fortunate  in  such  a  son.''  The  Cjo\erni)r  howed  to  his 
friend, and  n'joined  the  l; roups  of  officers  upon  the  'Terrace. 

A  llash  and  a  column  of  smoke,  white  and  su  Iden,  nxsc 
from  the  jijreat  battery  that  Hanked  the  chateau.  It  was 
the  second  si;;tuil  for  the  Council  to  commence.  The 
Count  de  la  Calissoniere,  lakin^j  the  arm  of  La  (Jorne  St. 
Luc,  entered  the  castle,  and  followed  by  the  crowd  of  offi- 
cers, proceeded  to  the  iiriMl  llali  of  Council  and  Audience. 
The  Governor,  followed  by  his  secretaries,  walked  forward 
to  the  vice-rejjjal  chair,  which  stood  on  a  dais,  at  the  head 
of  a  lonuj  table  covt^red  with  crimson  drapery.  ( )n  each 
side  of  the  table,  the  members  of  the  Council  took  the 
places  assii^ned  to  them,  in  the  order  of  their  rank  and 
precedence  ;  but  a  lon^  array  of  chairs  remained  unoccu- 
pied. 'I'hese  seats,  i)elon,i;inLj  to  the  Royal  Intendant  and 
the  other  hi<jh  officers  (jf  the  (lolonv,  who  had  not  vet  ar- 
rived  to  take  their  places  in  the  ^!ouncil,  stood  empty. 

The  great  hall  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  was  palatial 
in  its  (Hmensions  and  adornments.  Its  lofty  coved  ceiling, 
rested  on  a  cornice  of  rich  frieze  of  carved  work,  supported 
on  polished  pilasters  of  oak.  The  panels  of  wainscotting 
upon  the  walls,  were  surrounded  by  delicate  arabesques, 
and  hung  with  paintings  of  historic  interest — portraits  of 
the  Kings,  Governors,  Intendants,  and  Ministers  of  State, 
who  hacl  been  instrumental  in  the  colonization  of  New 
France. 

Over  the  Governor's  seat,  hung  a  gorgeous  escutcheon 
of  the  Royal  arms,  draped  with  a  cluster  of  white  fiags, 
sprinkled  with  golden  lilies — the  emblems  of  French 
sovereignty  in  the  Colony. 

Among  the  portraits  on  the  walls,  besides  those  of  the 
late  and  present  King  —  which  hung  on  each  side  of 
the  throne — might  be  seen  the  features  of  Richelieu,  who 
first  organized  the  rude  settlements  on  the  St.  Lawrence, 
into  a  body  politic — a  reflex  of  feudal  France  ;  and  of 
Colbert,  who  made  available  its  natural  wealth  and  re- 
sources, by  peopling  it  with  the  best  scions  of  the  Mother 
Land  —  the  noblesse  and  peasantry  of  Normandy, 
Brittany,  and  Aquitaine.     There,  too,  might  be   seen  the 


t  '■ 


no 


HIE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


keen,  bold  features  of  Carticr,  the  first  discoverer,  and  of 
Champlain,  the  first  explorer  of  the  new  land,  and  the 
founder  of  (Kiehec.  The  ;ranant,  restless  I/)uis  l>uade  de 
Fronlenac,  was  pictured  there,  side  by  side,  with  his  fair 
countess,  called  by  reason  of  her  surpassin;^  loveliness, 
'* 'I'he  Divine."  Vaudreuil,  too,  who  spent  a  long-life  of 
devotion  to  his  country,  and  Beauharnois,  who  nourished 
its  younj;  stri'nLjth  until  it  was  ai)le  to  resist,  not  only  the 
powerful  confederacy  of  the  Five  Nations,  but  the  still 
more  powerful  lea«;ue  of  New  lMi<j;iand  and  the  other 
iMi^lish  C'olonies.  There,  also,  were  seen  \.\\c  sharp  in- 
tellectual face  of  Laval,  its  hist  bishop,  who  ori^anized  the 
Church  and  education  in  the  Colony  ;  and  of  Talon,  wisest 
of  Intendants,  who  devoted  himself  to  tiie  improvement  of 
agriculture,  the  increase  of  trade,  and  the  well  beinj;  of  all 
the  Kin;^'s  subjects,  in  New  France.  And  one  more  striking 
portrait  was  there,  worthy  to  rank  among  the  statesmen 
and  rulers  of  New  France — the  i)ale,  calm,  intellectual 
features  of  Mere  Marie  de  I'lncarnation — the  first  superior 
of  the  Ursulines  of  Quebec,  who  in  obedience  to  heavenly 
visions,  as  she  believed,  k.'ft  I'^rance  to  found  schools  for 
the  children  of  the  new  Colonists,  and  who  taught  her  owq 
womanly  graces  to  her  own  sex,  who  were  destined  to 
become  the  future  mothers  of  New  France. 

In  marked  contrast  with  the  military  uniforms  of  the 
oflficers  surrounding  the  Council-table,  were  the  black  robes 
and  tonsured  heads  of  two  or  three  ecclesiastics,  who  had 
been  called  in  by  the  Governor  to  aid  the  council  with 
their  knowledge  and  ad\  ice.  There  were  the  Abbe  Metavet 
of  the  Algonquinsof  the  North,  Pere  Ot  bal,  the  Jesuit  mis- 
sionary of  the  Abenaquis  of  the  Fast,  u.kI  his  confrere  La 
Richardie,  from  the  wild  tribes  of  the  Far  West  ;  but  con- 
spicuous among  the  able  and  influential  missionaries,  who 
were  the  real  rulers  of  the  Indian  nations  allied  with 
France,  was  the  famous  Sulpicien,  Abbe  Piquet,  "  the 
King's  missionary,"  as  lie  was  styled  in  Royal  ordinances, 
and  the  Apostle  to  the  Iroquois,  whom  he  was  laboring  to 
convert  and  bring  over  to  the  side  of  France,  in  the  great 
dispute  raised  between  F'rance  and  England  for  supremacy 
in  North  America. 

Upon  the  wall  behind  the  Vice-Regal  chair,  hung  a  great 
map,  drawn  by  the  bold  hand  of  Abbe  Piquet,  represent- 
ing the  claims  as  well  as  actual  possessions  of  France,  in 


THE  CASri.E  OF  ST.  LOCIS. 


Ill 


America.  A  broad  red  line  hc^imMii;;  in  Acadia,  tra\erscd 
tlu-  map  westerly  taking  in  Lake  Ontario,  and  rimnin;^  south- 
erly alon^  the  crests  and  ri(l;^es  of  the  ApDalachian  Moun- 
tains, it  was  traced  with  a  tirm  hand  down  to  far  oti 
Louisiana,  ciaimini;  for  l''raiu:e  the  ,<;reat  vallies  of  the 
Ohio,  the  Mississi|)pi,  and  the  vast  territories  watered  by 
the  Missouri  and  the  Colorado — thus  hemmini;  the  En- 
glish in  between  the  walls  of  the  Appalachiaii  range  on 
the  west,  and  the  sea  coast  on  the  east. 

The  Abbe  ['{([uet  had  lately  in  a  canoe  descended  the 
Belle  Riviere,  as  the  voyageurs  called  the  noble  Ohio.  From 
its  source  to  its  junction  with  the  solitary  .Mississippi,  the 
Abl)e  had  planted  u|)on  its  conspicuous  blutfs  the  ensigns 
of  France,  with  tablets  (jf  lead  bearing  the  l"'leur  de  Lys, 
and  the  proud  inscr:|.lir;n,  ''\)i,tiin>iix  ihitr  lilia  plrnisy  Lil- 
ies destined  after  a  fierce  struggle  for  empire  to  be  tram- 
pled into  the  earth  by  the  feet  of  the  victorious  English. 

The  Abbe,  deeply  impressed  with  the  dangers  that  im- 
pended over  the  C'olonv,  labored  zt-alously  to  unite  the  In- 
dian nations  in  a  general  alliance  with  France.  He  had 
already  brought  the  powerful  Algon([uins  and  Nipissings 
into  his  scheme,  and  planted  tlu-m  at  Two  Mountains,  as  a 
bulwark  to  protect  the  city  of  Ville  Marie.  He  had  created 
a  great  schism  in  the  powerful  confederacv  of  the  Five 
J^alions,  by  adroitly  fanning  into  a  Hame  their  jealousy  of 
English  encroachments  upon  their  ancient  territory  on  Lake 
Ontario  ;  and  bands  of  Iroquois  had,  not  long  since,  held 
conference  with  the  Oovernor  of  New  France,  denouncing 
the  English  for  disregarding  their  exclusive  right  to  their 
own  country.  "The  lands  we  possess,"  said  they  at  a  great 
council  in  Ville  Marie — "  the  lands  we  possess  were  given 
to  us  by  the  Master  of  Life,  and  we  acknowledge  to  hold  of 
no  other  !" 

The  Abbe  had  now  strong  hopes  of  perfecting  a  scheme, 
which  he  afterwards  accomplished.  A  powerful  body  of 
the  Iroquois  left  their  villages  and  castles  on  the  Mohawk 
and  Gennessee  rivers,  and  under  the  guidance  of  the  Abb^, 
settled  round  the  new  Eort  of  La  Presentation,  on  the  St. 
Lawrence,  and  thus  barred  that  way  for  the  future,  against 
the  destructive  inroads  of  their  countrymen,  who  remained 
faithful  to  the  English  alliance. 

Pending  the  arrival  of  the  Royal  Intendant,   the   mem-; 
bers  of  the  Council  indulged  freely  in  conversation,  more 


,f'j!^f>L 


I 

ii 


IN 


112 


r//E  CHIEN  D'OR 


or  less  bearing  upon  the  important  matters  to  be  discussed, 
the  state  of  he  country,  the  movements  of  the  enemy 
and  not  seldom  intermin<;led  remarks  of  dissatisfaction 
and  impatience    ai  the  absence  of  the  Intendant. 

The  revel  at  Heaimianoir  was  well  known  to  them  ;  and 
eyes  flashed,  and  lips  curled  in  op'Mi  scorn,  at  the  well  un- 
derstood reason  of  the  Intendant's  delay. 

"  My  ])rivate  letters  by  the  Flcnr  dc  Lys,'"  remarked 
Beauharnois,  "  relate  among  other  Court  gossip,  that  orders 
would  be  sent  out  to  stop  the  defensive  works  at  Quebec, 
and  pull  down  what  is  built !  They  think  the  cost  of  walls 
round  our  city  can  be  better  bestowed  on  political  favorites, 
and  certain  high  personages  at  Court."  IJeauharnois 
turnetl  towards  the  Governor  :  "  Has  your  Excellency  heard 
aught  of  this  1 "  asked  he. 

"Yes!  It  is  true  enough,  Beauharnois!  I  also  have  re- 
ceived communications  to  that  effect  !  "  replied  the  Gover- 
nor, with  an  effort  at  calmness,  which  ill  concealed  the 
shame  and  disgust  that  filled  his  soul. 

There  was  an  indignant  stir  among  the  officers,  and 
many  lips  seemed  trembling  with  speech.  The  impetuous 
Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil  broke  the  fierce  silence.  He  struck 
his  fist  heavily  on  the  table. 

"  Ordered  us  to  stop  the  building  of  the  walls  of 
Quebec  !  and  to  pull  down  what  we  have  done  by  virtue  o^ 
the  King's  corvee! — Did  1  hear  your  Excellency  right  ?" 
repeated  he  in  a  tone  of  utmost  incredulity.  "The  King  is 
surely  mad  to  think  of  such  a  thing!" 

"Yes,  Rigaud  !  It  is  as  I  tell  you.  But  we  must  respect 
the  royal  command,  and  treat  his  Majesty's  name  as  be- 
comes loval  servants. 

"  Ventre  saint  bleu  ! — heard  ever  Canadian  or  Frenchman 
such  moonshine  madness  !  I  repeat  it — your  Excellency  ! 
dismantle  Quebec  ?  How  in  God's  name  are  the  King's 
dominions  and  the  King's  subjects  to  be  defended."  Ri- 
gaud got  warmer.  He  was  fearless,  and  would,  as  every  one 
knew,  have  out  his  say,  had  the  King  been  present  in  per- 
son. "Be  assured,  your  Excellency,  it  is  not  the  King  who 
orders  that  affront  to  his  faithful  colony.  It  is  ihe  King's 
Ministers — the  King's  mistresses — the  snufif-box  tapping 
courtiers  at  Veriailles,  who  can  spend  the  public  money 
in  more  elegant  v/ays  than  in  raising  up  walls  round  our 
brave  old  city!  Ancient  honor  and  chivalry  of  France! 
what  has  become  of  you  .'*  " 


THE  CASTLE  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


"3 


;cussed, 

enemy 

sfaction 


d 
veil  un- 


m  ;  an 


:marked 
t  orders 
[Quebec, 
of  walls 
ivorites, 
.iharnois 
cy  heard 

have  re- 
I  Gover- 
iled  the 

ers,   and 

npetuous 

e  struck 

Iwalls  of 
irtue  ojE 
ri^dit  ?" 
King  is 

respect 
fc  as  he- 
nchman 
lellency  1 
King's 
11."    Ri- 
krv  one 
in  per- 
Inii  who 
King's 
lapping 
money 
Ind   our 
I'rance ! 


Rigaud  sat  down  angrily  :  the  emotion  he  displayed  was 
too  nuich  in  accord  with  the  feelings  of  the  srallant  officers 
present,  to  excite  other  th:in  marks  of  approbation,  except 
among  a  few  personal  friends  of  the  Intendant,  who  took 
their  cue  from  the  avowed  wishes  of  the  Court. 

"What  reason  does  his  Majesty  give  ?  "  asked  LaCorne 
St.  Luc,  "for  this  singular  communication?" 

"The  only  reason  given,  is  found  in  the  concluding 
paragraph  of  the  despatch.  I  will  allow  the  Secretary  to 
read  so  much  of  it,  and  no  more,  before  the  Intendant  ar- 
rives." The  Governor  looked  up  at  the  great  clock  in  the 
hall,  with  a  grim  glance  of  impatience — as  if  mentally 
callinji:  down  anvthing  but  a  blessing  upon  the  head  of  the 
loitering  Intendant. 

"  The  Count  de  le  Galissoniere  ought  to  know,"  said 
the  despatch  sneeringly,  "that  works  like  those-of  Quebec 
are  not  to  bi-  undertaken  by  the  Governors  of  Colonies, 
except  under  express  orders  from  the  King  ;  and  therefore 
it  is  His  Majesty's  desire  that,  upon  the  reception  of  this 
dispatch,  your  Ivxcellency  will  discontinue  the  works  that 
have  been  begun  upon  (Quebec.  Extensive  fortifications  re- 
quire strong  garrisons  for  their  defence,  and  the  King's 
treasury  is  already  exhausted  by  the  extraordinary  expenses 
of  the  war  in  Europe.  It  cannot  at  the  same  time  carry 
on  the  war  in  Europe  and  meet  the  heavy  draughts  made 
upon  it,  from  North  America." 

The  Secretary  folded  the  despatch,  and  sat  down  with- 
out altering  a  line  of  his  impassive  face.  Not  so  the 
majority  of  the  officers  round  the  table:  they  wj re  excited, 
and  ready  to  spring  up  in  their  indignation.  The  King's 
name  restrained  them  all  but  Rigaud  de  V'audreuil,  who 
impetuously  burst  out  with  an  oath,  exclaiming:  "They 
may  as  well  sell  New  Erance  at  once  to  the  enemy,  if  we 
are  not  to  defend  Quebec  !  The  treasury  wants  money  for 
the  war  in  Europe  forsooth  !  No  doubt  it  wants  money 
for  the  war,  when  so  much  is  lavished  upon  the  pimps,  pan- 
ders and  harlots  of  the  Court !  " 

The  Governor  rose  suddenly — striking  the  table  with 
his  scabbard  to  stop  Rigaud  in  his  rash  and  dangerous 
speech. 

"  Not  a  word  more  of  connnent,  C^hevalier  Rigaud!" 
said  he,  with  a  sharp  imperative  tone  that  3ut  short  de- 
bate ;  "  not  another  word  !     His  Majesty's  name  and  those 

8 


7T 


i 

1 

( 


M 


114 


T//E  CHIEN  D'OR. 


of  his  Ministers  must  be  spoken  here  respectfully,  or  not  at 
all !  Sit  down,  Chevalier  de  Vaudreuil  ;  you  are  incon- 
siderate." 

"  I  obey  your  Excellency — T  am,  I  dare  say,  inconsider- 
ate !  but  I  am  ri^ht  !  "  Rigaud's  passion  was  subsiding, 
but  not  spent.  He  obeyed  the  order,  however.  He  had 
had  his  say,  and  tlung  himself  heavily  upon  his  chair. 

"'I'he  King's  despatch  demands  respectful  and  loyal 
consideration,"  remarked  DeLery,  a  solid  grave  officer  of 
engineers,  "  and  I  doulit  not  that  upon  a  proper  remon- 
strance from  this  council,  His  Majesty  will  graciously  re- 
consider his  order.  The  fall  of  Louisbourg  is  ominous  of 
the  fall  of  (Quebec.  It  is  imperative  to  fortify  the  city  in 
time  to  meet  tiie  threatened  invasion,  I'he  loss  of  Quebec 
would  be  the  loss  of  the  Colony  ;  and  the  loss  of  the 
Colony,  the  disgrace  of  France  and  tiie  ruin  of  our  country." 

"I  cordially  agree  with  the  Chevalier  DeLery,"  said 
La  ('orne  St.  Luc.  "  He  has  spoken  more  S( use  than 
would  be  found  in  a  ship  load  of  such  desj)atches  as  that 
just  read  !  Nay,  your  Lxcellency,"  continued  the  old  offi- 
cer iiniiing — "  I  shall  not  affront  my  sovereign,  by  believ- 
ing that  so  ill-timed  a  missive  came  from  him!  Depend 
upon  it,  His  Majesty  has  neither  seen  nor  sanctioned  it. 
It  is  the  work  of  the  Minister  and  his  mistresses  not  the 
King's." 

"  La  Corne  !  La  Corne  !  "  The  Governor  raised  his  finger 
with  a  warning  look.  "  We  will  not  discuss  the  point 
further,  until  we  are  favored  with  the  presence  and  opinion 
of  the  Intendant.  He  will  surely  be  here  shortly!"  At 
this  moment  a  distant  noise  of  shouting  was  heard  in  some 
part  of  the  city. 

An  officer  of  the  day,  entered  the  Hall  in  great  haste, 
and  whispered  something  in  the  Governor's  ear  : — 

"  A  riot  in  the  streets !  "  exclaimed  the  Governor. 
"The  mob  attacking  the  Intendant!  You  do  not  say  so  ! 
Captain  Duval,  turn  out  the  whole  guard  at  once,  and  let 
Colonel  St.  Remy  take  the  command,  and  clear  the  way  for 
the  Intendant,  and  also  clear  the  streets  of  all  disturbers." 

A  number  of  officers  sprang  to  their  feet.  "  Keep  seated, 
gentlemen  !  We  must  not  break  up  the  council,"  said  the 
Governor.  "We  are  sure  to  have  the  Intendant  here  in  a 
few  minutes,  and  learn  the  cause  of  this  uproar.  It  is 
some  trilling  affair  of  noisy  habitans^  I  have  no  doubt," 


)r  not  at 
:   incon- 

msider- 

bsiding, 

He  had 

air. 

id  loyal 

fficer  of 

remon- 
usly  re- 
nous  of 

city  in 
Quebec 
;  of  the 
ountry." 
y,"  said 
se    than 

as  that 

old  offi- 

j  believ- 

Depend 

oned  it. 

not  the 


lis 
le 


finger 

point 

opinion 

!"     At 
in  some 


haste, 

3vernor. 
say  so  ! 
and  let 
way  for 
irbers." 
sea 


ai 


ted, 
d  the 


[re  in  a 
It  is 
Ibt." 


THE  CASTLE  OF  ST.  LOUIS. 


"S 


Another  loud  shout — or  rather  yell  made  itself  distinctly 
heard  in  the  Council  Chamber.  "It  is  the  people,  cheer- 
ing the  Iiitendant  on  his  way  through  the  city  !  ''  remarked 
La  Corne  St.  Luc,  ironically.  "  Zounds  I  what  a  vacarme 
they  make  !  See  what  it  is  to  be  popular  with  the  citizens 
of  Quebec."  / 

There  was  a  smile  all  round  the  table,  at  La  Corne's 
sarcasm.  It  offended  a  few  friends  of  the  Intendant,  how- 
ever. 

"  The  Chevalier  La  Corne  speaks  boldly  in  the  absence 
of  the  Intendant,"  said  Colonel  Leboeuf.  "  A  gentleman 
would  give  a  Louis  d'or  any  day  to  buy  a  whip  to  lash  the 
rabble,  sooner  than  a  sou  to  win  their  ajiplause !  I  would 
not  give  a  red  herring  for  the  good  opinion  of  all  Quebec  !  " 

"  They  say  in  France,  Colonel,"  replied  La  Corne  "  St. 
Luc,  scornfully,  'that  King's  chaff  is  better  than  other 
people's  corn,  and  that  tish  in  the  market  is  cheaper  than 
fish  in  the  sea !  '  I  believe  it — and  can  prove  it  to  any 
gentleman  who  maintains  the  contrary!" 

There  was  a  laugh  at  La  Corne's  allusion  to  the  Mar- 
quise  de  Pompadour,  whose  original  name,  of  Jeanne  Pois- 
son,  gave  rise  to  infinite  jests  and  sarcasms  among  the  peo- 
ple of  low  and  high  degree. 

Colonel  LebcEuf,  choleric  as  he  was,  refrained  from 
pressing  the  quarrel  with  La  Corne  St.  Luc.  He  sat 
sulkily  smothering  his  wrath — longing  to  leave  the  Hall 
and  go  to  the  relief  of  the  Intendaiit — but  kept  against  his 
will  by  the  command  of  the  Governor. 

The  drums  of  the  Main  Guard  beat  the  assembly.  The 
clash  of  arms  and  the  tramp  of  many  feet  resounded  from 
the  court-vard  of  the  Chateau.  I'he  members  of  the 
Council  looked  out  of  the  windows  as  the  troops  formed  in 
column,  and  headed  by  Colonel  St.  Reiny,  defiled  out  of 
the  Castle  tj-atf^  :  the  thunder  of  their  drums  ch owning 
A  every  other  "f  "I'l'iy  y^'i^'^  of  happy  wedded  litUcefas  they 
marched  thisl^*^  It-'ft  no  void  in  his  heart  that  w\^x\^  of  dis- 
turbance. '^^Pt  ^'P  ^  hii'g^i  household  for  frien 
ish  in  his  hospitality.     In    secret 


^f^^X^4t.-*-**^p--^*^'y^^  l^*^-^"^*^^^  /jfc:-/fc^^t_a:^t>-^«^ft.^ 


^Ct-v-^Jt^ 


>^t*T-t^-^^ 


'^ 


-y 


'^Aa^  /^t^U^^-^-CD  ^2:**5i^^"/i{,el_ 


Y^ 


T^^ 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


THE    CHIEN    DOR. 


•■    '! 


I 


li 


I 'I 
ill 


f 


On  the  Rue  Buacle,  a  street  commemorative  of  the  gal- 
lant Froiitenac,  stood  the  large,  imposing  edifice  newly 
built  by  the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  as  the  people  of  the  Col- 
ony fondly  called  Nicholas  Jaquin  Philibert,  the  great  and 
wea  y  merchant  of  Quebec,  and  their  champion  against 
the  odious  monopolies  of  the  grand  Company,  favored  by 
the  Intendant. 

The  edifice  was  of  stone,  spacious  and  lofty,  but  in 
style  solid,  plain  and  severe.  It  was  a  wonder  of  archi- 
tecture in  Now  France,  and  the  talk  and  admiration  of  the 
Colony  from  Tadousac  to  Ville  Marie.  It  comprized  the 
city  residence  of  the  Bourgeois  as  well  as  suites  of  offices 
and  ware-rooms  connected  with  his  immense  business. 

The  house  was  bare  of  architectural  adornments  ;  but 
on  its  fa(;ade,  bla/.ing  in  the  sun,  was  the  gilded  sculpture 
that  so  much  piqued  the  curiosity  of  both  citizens  and 
strangers,  and  was  the  talk  of  every  seigneurie  in  the  land. 
The  tablet  of  tne  C/iu'/i  D'or — the  (Tolden  Dog  with  its  enig- 
matical inscription,  looked  down  defiantly  upon  the  busy 
street  beneath,  where  it  is  still  to  be  seen,  perplexing  the 
beholder  to  guess  its  meaning,  and  exciting  our  deepest 
sympalhit;s  over  the  tragedy  of  which  it  remains  the  sole 
sad  memorial. 

Above  and  beneath  the  figure  of  a  couchant  dog,  knavv- 
ing  the  thigh  bone  of  a  man,  is  graven  the  weird  inscrip- 
tion, cut  deeply  in  the  stone,  as  if  for  all  future  generations 
to  read  and  ponder  over  its  meaning  : — 

>  attacking  the  Intendant!     You  d 

iival.  turn  out  the  whole  guard  at  c 

,  Remv  take  the  command,  and  cle 

'ant,  and  also  clear  the  streets  of  al 
. ,  ^^■ 

Or  in  English  : — 

"  I  am  a  doji;  that  gnaws  his  bone, 
I  couch  and  gnaw  it  all  ali)ne — 
A  tinic  will  conic,  which  is  not  vet, 
When  I'll  bite  himbv  whom  I'm  bit." 


ii6 


THE  cm  EN-  iroR. 


117 


he  gal- 
newly 
he  Col- 
iat  and 
agauist 
)ied  by 

but  in 
[  archi- 
ll of  the 
zed  the 

offices 

ts  ;  but 

;ulpture 

ns  and 

land. 

tsenii^- 

busy 

n;^  the 

eepest 

e    sole 

knaw- 
uisciip- 
irations 


ic 


The  magazines  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  presented 
not  only  an  epitome,  but  a  substantial  portion  of  the  com- 
merce of  New  France.  IJales  of  furs,  which  had  been 
brought  down  in  fleets  of  canoes  from  the  wild,  almost  un- 
known regions  of  the  Northwest,  lay  piled  up  to  the  beams  ; 
skins  of  the  smootli  beaver,  the  delicate  otter,  black  and 
silver  fox,  so  rich  to  the  eye  and  silky  to  the  touch,  that 
the  proudest  beauties  longed  for  their  possession  ;  seal 
skins  to  trim  the  gowns  of  portly  burgomasters,  and  ermine 
to  adorn  the  robes  of  nobles  and  kings.  Tiie  spoils  of 
the  wolf,  bear  and  buffalo,  worked  to  the  softness  of  cloth 
by  the  hands  of  Indian  women,  were  stored  for  winter 
wear,  and  to  fdl  the  sledges  with  warmth  and  comfort 
when  the  northwest  wind  freezes  the  snow  to  fine  dust, 
and  the  aurora  borealis  moves  in  stately  procession,  like 
an  army  of  spearmen,  across  the  northern  sky.  The  har- 
vests of  the  colonists,  the  corn,  the  wool,  the  Ha\,  the  tim- 
ber (enough  to  build  whole  navies),  and  mighty  pines  fit  to 
mast  the  tallest  admiral,  were  stored  upon  the  wharves  and 
in  tiie  warehouses  of  the  Bourgeois  upon  the  banks  of  the 
St.  Lawrence,  with  iron  from  the  royal  forges  of  the  Three 
Rivers,  and  heaps  of  ginseng  from  the  forests,  a  product 
worth  its  weight  in  gold,  and  eagerly  exchanged  by  the 
Chinese  for  their  teas,  silks,  and  syce  silver. 

The  stately  mansion  of  Belmont  overlooking  the  pictur- 
esque valley  of  the  St.  Charles,  was  the  residence  proper  of 
the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  but  the  shadow  that  in  time  falls 
over  every  hearth  had  fallen  upon  his,  when  the  last  of  his 
children,  his  beloved  son  I'ierre,  left  home  to  pursue  his  mili- 
tary studies  in  France.  During  Pierre's  absence  the  home 
at  Belmont,  although  kept^  up  with  the  same  strict  atten- 
tion which  the  Bourgeois  paid  to  everything  under  his  rule, 
was  not  occupied  by  him.  He  preferred  his  city  mansion, 
as  more  convenient  for  his  affairs,  and  resided  therein. 
His  partner  of  many  years  of  happy  wedded  Hfe  had  been 
long  dead  ;  she  left  no  void  in  his  heart  that  another  could 
fill,  but  he  kept  up  a  large  household  for  friendship  sake, 
and  was  lavish  in  his  hospitality.  In  secret  he  was  a 
grave,  solitary  man,  caring  for  the  j)resent  only  for  the 
sake  of  the  thousands  dependant  on  him — living  much 
with  the  memory  of  the  dear  dead,  and  much  with  the 
hope  of  the  future  in  his  son  Pierre. 

The  Bourgeois  was  a  man  worth  looking  at,  and,  at  a 


Mil 


I: !  I 


I 


"I 


♦  I 


n8 


THE  cniEM  noR. 


glance,  one  to  trust  to,  whether  you  soup^ht  the  strong  hand 
to  help,  the  wise  head  to  counsel,  or  the  feeling  heart  to 
sympathize  with  you.  He  was  tall,  and  strongly  knit,  with  fea- 
tures of  a  high  j)atiician  cast,  a  noble  head,  covered  thick 
with  grizzly  hair — one  of  those  heads  so  tenacious  of  life, 
that  they  never  grow  bald,  but  carry  to  the  grave  the  snows 
of  a  hundred  years.  His  quick  grey  eyes  caught  your 
meaning  ere  it  was  half  spoken.  A  nose  and  chin 
moulded  with  beauty  and  precision,  accentuated  his  hantl- 
some  face.  His  lips  were  grave  even  in  their  smile,  for 
gaiety  was  rarely  a  guest  in  the  heart  of  the  Uourgeois.  A 
man  keenly  susceptible  to  kindness,  but  strong  in  resent- 
ments and  not  to  be  placated  without  the  fullest  atone- 
ment. 

The  Bourgeois  sat  by  the  table  in  his  spacious,  well 
furnished  drawing  room,  which  overlooked  the  Rue  Buade, 
and  gave  him  a  glimpse  of  the  tall  new  cathedral  and  the 
trees  and  <fardens  of  the  seminarv.  He  was  eneraiied  in 
reading  letters  and  ])apers  just  arrived  from  France  by  the 
frigate,  rapidly  extracting  their  contents  and  pencilling 
on  their  margins  memos,  for  further  reference  to  his 
clerks. 

The  only  other  occupant  of  the  room  was  a  very 
elderly  lady,  in  a  black  gown  of  rigid  Huguenot  fashion. 
A  close  white  cap,  tied  under  her  chin,  setoff  to  the  worst 
adxantage  her  sharji,  yet  kindly,  features.  Not  an  end  of 
ribbon  or  edge  of  lace  could  be  seen  to  point  to  one  hair- 
breadth of  indulgence  in  the  vanities  of  the  world  by  this 
strict  old  Puritan,  who,  under  this  unpromising  exterior, 
possessed  the  kindliest  heart  in  Christendom.  Her 
dress,  if  of  rigid  severity,  was  of  saintly  purity,  and  almost 
pained  the  eye  with  its  precision  and  neatness.  So  fond 
are  we  of  some  freedom  from  over-much  care  as  from  over- 
much righteousness,  that  a  stray  tress,  a  loose  ribbon,  a 
little  rent  even,  will  relieve  the  eye  and  hold  it  with  a  sub- 
tle charm.  Under  the  snow  white  hair  of  Dame  Rochelle 
— for  she  it  was — the  worthy  old  housekeeper  and  ancient 
governess  of  the  House  of  Philibert,  you  saw  a  kind,  in- 
telligent face.  Her  dark  eyes  betrayed  her  Southern  origin, 
confirmed  by  her  speech,  which,  although  refined  by  cul- 
ture, still  retained  the  soft  intonation  and  melody  of  her 
native  Languedoc. 

Dame   Rochelle,  the  daughter  of  an   ardent  Calvinist 


THE  C/IIEJV  nOR. 


119 


very 
lion, 
worst 
nd  of 
hair- 
n'  this 
crior, 
Her 
liiiost 
fond 
over- 
)on,  a 
I  sub- 
helle 
cicnt 
d,  in- 
ri<rin, 
\'  cul- 
f  her 

Mnist 


mniister,  was  born  in  the  fatal  year  of  the  revocation  of 
the  Edict  of  Nantes,  when  Loviis  XIV.  undid  the  <.jIorious 
work  of  Henri  Qiiatre,  and  covered  France  with  persecu- 
tion and  civil  war,  fillinif  forei;^n  c  )untiies  witli  the  elect 
of  her  population,  her  industry  and  her  wealth,  exiled  in 
the  name  of  religion. 

Dame  Rochelle's  childhood  had  passed  in  the  trying 
scenes  of  the  great  persecution  ;  and  in  the  succeeding  civil 
wars  of  the  Cevennes,  she  lost  all  that  was  nearest 
and  dearest  to  her — her  father,  her  brothers,  her  kindred 
nearly  all,  and  lastly  a  gallant  gentleman  of  Danphiny,  to 
whom  she  was  betrothed.  She  knelt  beside  him  at  his 
place  of  execution — or  martyrdom,  for  he  died  for  his 
faith — and  holding  his  hands  in  hers,  pledged  her  eter- 
nal fidelity  to  his  memory,  and  faithfully  kept  it  all  her 
life. 

The  Count  de  Philibert,  elder  brother  of  the  IJ.iurgeois, 
was  an  officer  of  the  King  ;  he  witnessed  this  sad  scene, 
took  pity  upon  the  hapless  girl,  and  gave  her  a  home  and  pro- 
tection with  his  family  in  the  Cluiteau  of  Philibert,  where 
she  spent  the  rest  of  her  life  until  the  Bourgeois  succeeded 
to  his  childless  brother.  In  the  ruin  of  his  house  she  would 
not  consent  to  leave  them,  but  followed  their  fortunes  to 
New  France.  She  had  been  the  faithful  friend  and  com- 
panion of  the  wife  of  the  Bourgeois  and  the  educator  of 
his  children,  and  was  now,  in  her  old  age,  tiie  trusted 
friend  and  manajrer  of  his  houseiiold.  Her  davs  were 
divided  between  the  exercises  of  religion  and  the  prac- 
tical duties  of  life.  The  light  that  illumined  lier,  though 
flowing  through  the  narrow  window  of  a  narrow  creed,  was 
still  light  of  divine  origin.  It  salistled  her  faith,  and  filL-d 
her  with  resignation,  hope,  and  comfort. 

Her  three  studies  were  the  l>ible,  the  hymns  of  Marot, 
and  the  sermons  of  the  famous  Juricu.  She  had  listened 
to  the  prophecies  of  Grande  Marie,  and  had  even  herself 
been  breathed  upon  on  the  top  of  Mount  Peira  by  the 
Huguenot  prophet  De  Serre. 

Good  Dame  Rochelle  was  not  without  a  feeling  that  at 
times  the  spiritual  gift  she  had  received  when  a  girl  made 
itself  manifest  by  intuitions  of  the  future,  which  were,  after 
all,  perhaps  only  emanations  of  her  natural  good  sense  and 
clear  intellect — the  foresight  of  a  pure  mind. 

The  wasting  persecutions  of  the  Calvinists  in  the  moun- 


^ 


I  I 


I 


'I      I 
I 
,  i 


i 


I20 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


tains  of  the  Cevennes,  drove  men  and  women  wild  with 
desperate  fanaticism.  ]>e  Serre  had  an  immense  follow- 
ing. He  assumed  to  impart  the  Holy  Spirit  and  the  gift  of 
tongues  by  breathing  upon  the  believers.  The  refugees 
carried  his  doctrines  to  England,  and  handed  down  their 
singular  ideas  to  modern  times  ;  and  a  .sect  may  still  be 
found  which  believes  in  the  gift  of  tongues  and  practices 
the  power  of  prophecying,  as  taught  originally  in  the 
Cevennes. 

The  good  dame  was  not  reading  this  morning,  although 
the  volume  before  her  lay  open.  Her  glasses  lay  upon  the 
page,  and  she  sat  nnising  by  the  open  window,  seldom 
looking  out,  however,  for  her  thoughts  were  chiefly  inward. 
The  return  of  Pierre  I'hilibert.  her  foster  child,  had  filled 
her  with  joy  and  thankfulness,  and  she  was  pondering  in 
her  mind  the  details  of  a  festival  which  the  Bourgeois  in- 
tended to  gi\e  in  honor  of  the  return  f)f  his  only  son. 

The  Bourgeois  had  tinislied  the  reading  of  his  packet 
of  letters,  and  sat  musing  in  silence.  He,  too,  was  intently 
thinking  of  his  son.  His  face  was  filled  with  the  satisfac- 
tion of  old  Simeon  when  he  cried  out  of  the  fullness  of  his 
heart:  '■'' Domitie  /  niiiic  diinittis  T'' 

"  Dame  Rochelle,"  said  he.  She  turned  promptly  to 
the  voice  of  her  master,  as  she  ever  insisted  on  calling 
him.  "Were  I  superstitious,  I  should  fear  that  my  great 
joy  at  Pierre's  return  might  be  the  prelude  to  some  great 
sorrow," 

"  God's  blessing  on  Pierre  !  "  said  she  ;  "  he  can  only 
bring  joy  to  this  house.  Thank  the  Lord  for  what  he 
gives  and  what  He  takes  !  He  took  Pierre,  a  stripling 
from  his  home,  and  returns  him  a  great  man,  fit  to  ride  at 
the  King's  right  hand,  and  to  be  over  his  host  like  Benaiah, 
the  son  of  Jehoiada,  over  the  host  of  Solomon." 

"  Grand  mcrci  for  the  comj^arison.  Dame  1  "  said  the 
Bourgeois  smding,  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  "  But 
Pierre  is  a  Frenchman,  and  would  prefer  commanding  a 
brigade  in  the  army  of  the  Marshal  de  Saxe  to  being  over 
the  host  of  King  Solomon.  But,"  continued  he,  gravely, 
"  I  am  strangely  happy  to-day,  Deborah," — he  was  wont 
to  call  her  Deborah  when  very  earnest — "  and  I  will  not 
anticipate  any  mischief  to  mar  my  happiness.  Pshaw!  It 
is  only  the  reaction  of  over-excited  feelings.  I  am  weak 
in  the  strength  of  my  joy." 


I 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


121 


great 
great 

only 

at  he 

ipliiig 

ide  at 

naiah, 

the 

"  But 
ling  a 

over 
avcly, 

wont 
11  not 
w!  It 

weak 


"  The  still  small  voice  speaks  to  us  in  that  way,  Master, 
to  remind  us  to  jjlace  our  trust  in  Ht^aven,  not  on  earth, 
where  all  is  transitory  and  uncertain  ;  for  if  a  man  live 
many  years,  and  rejoice  in  them  all,  let  him  remember  the 
days  of  darkness,  for  they  are  many!  We  are  no  strangers 
to  the  vanity  and  shadows  of  human  life,  Master!  Pierre's 
return  is  like  sunshine  breaking  through  the  clouds.  God 
is  pleased  if  we  bask  in  the  sunshine  when  he  sends  it." 

"  Right,  Dame  !  and  so  we  will  !  The  old  walls  of  liel- 
mont  shall  ring  with  rejoicing  over  the  return  of  their  heir 
and  future  owner." 

The  Dame  looked  up  delightedly  at  the  remark  of  the 
Bourgeois.  She  knew  he  had  destined  Belmont  as  a  resi- 
dence for  Pierre  ;  but  the  thought  suggested  in  her  mind 
was  perhaps  the  same  which  the  Bourgeois  had  mused 
upon  when  he  gave  expression  to  a  certain  anxiety. 

"Master,"  said  she,  "does  Pierre  know  that  the 
Chevalier  Bigot  was  concerned  in  the  false  accusations 
against  you,  and  that  it  was  he,  promjjted  by  the  Cardinal 
and  the  Princess  de  Carignan,  who  enforced  the  unjust 
decree  of  the  Court  ?  " 

"I  think  not,  Deborah.  I  never  told  Pierre  that  Bigot 
was  ever  more  than  the  avocat  dii  Roi  in  my  persecu- 
tion. It  is  what  troubles  me  amidst  my  joy.  If  Pierre 
knew  that  the  Intendant  had  been  my  false  accuser  on  the 
part  of  the  Cardinal,  his  sword  would  not  rest  a  day  in  its 
scabbard  without  calling  Bigot  to  a  bloody  account.  In- 
deed, it  is  all  I  myself  can  do  to  refrain.  When  I  met  him  for 
the  first  time  here,  in  the  Palace  gate,  I  knew  him  again, 
and  looked  him  full  in  the  eyes,  and  he  knew  me.  He  is 
a  bold  hound,  and  glared  back  at  me  without  shrinking. 
Had  he  smiled  I  should  have  struck  him  ;  but  we  passed 
in  silence  with  a  salute  as  mortal  as  enemies  ever  gave  each 
other.  It  is  well,  perhaps,  I  wore  not  my  sword  that  day, 
for  I  felt  my  passion  rising — a  thinj;  I  abhor.  J^ierre's 
young  blood  would  not  remain  still  if  he  knew  the  Inten- 
dant as  I  know  him.  But  I  dare  not  tell  him  !  There 
would  be  bloodshed  at  once,  Deborah  !  " 

"1  fear  so,  Master!  I  trembled  at  Bigot  in  the  old 
land  \  I  tremble  at  him  here,  where  he  is  more  powerful 
than  before.  I  saw  him  passing  one  day.  He  stopped  to 
read  the  inscription  of  the  Golden  Dog.  His  face  was 
the  face  of  a  fiend  as  he  rode  hastily  away.  He  knew  well 
how  to  interpret  it." 


vr 


Z3a 


THE  CniEN  D'OR. 


"  Ha !  you  did  not  tell  me  that  before,  Deborah  ! " 
The  Bourgeois  rose  excitedly.  "  \\v^n\.  read  it  all,  did  he? 
I  ho]3e  every  letter  of  it  was  branded  on  his  soul  as  with 
red-hot  iron  !  " 

"  Dear  Master,  tliat  is  an  unchristian  saying,  and  no- 
thing good  can  come  of  it.  'Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the 
Lord  ! '     Our  worst  enemies  arc  best  left  in  His  hands.'' 

The  Dame  was  proceeding  in  a  still  more  moralizing 
strain,  when  a  noise  arose  in  the  street  from  a  crowd  of 
persons,  habilans  for  the  most  part,  congregated  round 
the  house.  'I'he  noise  increased  to  such  a  degree  that  they 
sto|)ped  their  conversation,  and  both  the  Dame  anrl  the 
Bourgeois  lot)ked  out  of  the  window  at  the  increasing  multi- 
tude that  had  gathered  in  the  street. 

The  crowd  had  come  to  the  Rue  l^uade,  to  see  the 
famous  tablet  of  the  Oolden  Dog,  which  was  talked  of  in 
every  seigneurie  in  Nc'w  h'rance  ;  still  more,  perhaps,  to 
see  the  Jiourgeois  Philibert  himself — the  great  merchant, 
who  contended  for  the  rights  of  the  habitans^  and  who 
■would  not  yield  an  inch  to  the  FriiDonne. 

The  JJourgeois  looked  down  at  the  ever-increasing 
throng,  country-people  for  the  most  part,  with  their  wives, 
with  not  a  few  citizens  whom  he  could  easily  distinguish  by 
their  dress  and  manner.  The  Bourgeois  stood  rather 
withdrawn  from  the  front,  so  as  not  to  be  recognized,  for 
he  hated  intensely  anything  like  a  demonstration,  still  less 
an  ovation.  He  could  hear  many  loud  voices,  however, 
in  the  crowd,  and  caught  up  the  chief  topics  they  discussed 
with  each  other. 

His  eyes  rested  several  times  on  a  wiry,  jerking  little 
fellow,  whom  he  recognized  as  Jean  La  Marche,  theliddler, 
a  censitaire  of  the  manor  of  Tilly.  He  was  a  well  known 
character,  and  had  drawn  a  large  circle  of  the  crowd  around 
himself. 

"  1  want  to  see  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  !  "  exclaimed 
Jean  La  Marche.  "  He  is  the  bravest  merchant  in  New 
France — the  people's  friend.  Bless  the  Goklen  Dog,  and 
curse  the  Friponne  I  " 

"  Hurrah  for  the  Golden  Dog,  and  curse  the  Friponne  !  " 
exclaimed  a  score  of  voices  ;  "  won't  you  sing,  Jean  ?  " 

"Not  now  ;  I  have  a  new  ballad  ready  on  the  Golden 
Dog,  which  I  shall  sing  to-night — that  is,  if  you  will  care  to 
listen  to  me."     Jean  said  this  with  a  very  demure  air  of 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


123 


to 


little 
[idler, 
nown 
round 

iimed 

New 
and 


le 


I 


)lden 
[re  to 
lir  of 


mock  modesty,  knowinf:^  well  that  the  reception  of  a 
new  ballad  from  him  Wduld  cc|ual  the  furor  for  a  new  aria 
from  the  prima  donna  of  the  ojii-ra  at   I'aris, 

''  We  will  all  conu-  to  hear  it,  Jean  !  "  cried  they  :  '*  but 
take  care  of  your  fiddle,  or  you  will  gel  it  crushed  in  the 
crowd." 

"As  if  I  did  not  know  how  to  take  care  of  my  darlinf^ 
baby!  "  said  Jean,  holdin:;  his  violin  hii^h  above  his  head. 
"  It  is  my  only  child  ;  it  will  lau;;h  or  cry,  and  love  and 
scold,  as  I  bid  it,  and  make  everybody  else  do  the  same 
when  I  touch  its  heart-strings,"  Jean  had  brought  his 
violin  under  his  arm,  in  place  of  a  spade,  to  helj)  build  up 
the  walls  of  the  city.  He  had  ne\er  heard  of  Amphion, 
with  his  lyre,  building  up  the  walls  of  Thebes  ;  but  Jean 
knew  that  in  his  violin  lay  a  power  of  work,  by  other  hands, 
if  he  played  while  they  labored,  "it  ligiUened  toil  and 
made  work  go  merrily  as  the  bells  of  Tilly  at  a  wedding  ;" 
said  he. 

There  was  immense  talk,  with  plenty  of  laughter  and 
no  thought  of  mischief,  among  the  crowd.  The  hohitans 
of  cu  luiut  and  the  luibittvts  of  en  has  commingled,  as  they 
rarely  did,  in  a  friendly  way.  Nor  was  anything  to  pro- 
voke a  quarrel  said  even  to  the  Acadians,  whose  rude 
patois  was  a  source  of  merry  jest  to  the  better-speaking 
Canadians. 

The  Acadians  had  flocked  in  great  numbers  into 
Quebec,  on  the  seizure  of  their  Province  by  the  Knglish — 
sturdy,  robust,  quarrelsome  fellows,  who  went  about  chal- 
lenging people  in  their  reckless  way, — Etions pas  tnon  77uiitre^ 
tnonsiciir  t  —  but  all  were  civil  to-day,  and  tuques  were 
pulled  off,  and  bows  exchanged,  in  a  style  of  easy  polite- 
ness that  would  not  have  shamed  the  streets  of  Paris. 

The  crowd  kept  increasing  in  the  Rue  Buade.  The 
two  sturdy  beggars, who  vigorously  kept  their  places  on  the 
stone  steps  of  the  barrier  or  gateway  of  the  Basse  Ville, 
reaped  an  unusual  harvest  of  the  smallest  coin — Max 
Grimau,  an  old  disabled  sold'er,  in  ragged  uniform,  which 
he  had  worn  at  the  defence  of  Prague,  under  the  Marshal 
de  Helleisle,  and  blind  Bartemy,  a  mendicant  born  ;  the 
former,  loud-tonguetl  and  importunate,  the  latter,  silent  and 
only  holding  out  a  shaking  hand  for  charity.  No  Finance 
Minister  or  Royal  Intendant  studied  more  earnestly  the 
problem  how  to  tax  the  kingdom,   than  Max  and  131ind 


^ 


•3i 

It 


124 


yy/A'  C///E.V  D'OR. 


in.irtemy  how  to  toll  the  passers-by,  and  with  less  success, 
perhaps. 

'I'o-day  was  a  red  letter  day  for  the  sturdy  hejij^Tars,  for 
the  news  (lew  fast  that  an  ovation  of  some  po|Mi];ir  kind 
was  to  be  ^iven  to  the  iJoiirjjjeois  IMiilibert.  The  hahitans 
came  trooping  up  the  rou^h  niouiilain  road  that  leads  from 
the  Basse  Ville  to  the  Upper  Town,  and  up  the  lonj;  stairs, 
lined  with  the  stalls  :,i  Has(|ue  pedlars,  cheaiin^^  loqua- 
cious varlcts  ;  which  formed  a  by  way  from  the  lower  rei;ions 
of  the  Rue  de  Champhiiii,  a  break  neck  thorou;;hfarc',  little 
liked  by  the  old  and  asthmatical,  but  nothin<;  to  the  sturdy 
"climbers,"  as  the  hahitans  cwW'iX  the  lads  of  (Quebec,  or 
the  lii^hl  footed  lasses,  who  displayed  their  trim  ankles,  as 
they  Hew  up  the  bree/y  stej)s  to  t  lunch  or  market. 

Max  (irimau  and  lilind  liartemy  had  ceased  countinj^ 
their  coins.  The  passers-by  came  up  in  still  increasinjij  num- 
bers, until  the  street,  fiom  the  barrier  of  ^he  basse  \'ille  to 
the  ("athedial,  was  lilled  with  a  noisy,  <;ot)d-humored  crowd, 
without  an  object,  except  to  stare  at  the  (iolden  Doj;,  and  a 
desire  to  catch  a  g^limpse  of  the  liour^eois  IMiilibert. 

The  crowd  had  become  very  dense,  when  a  troop  of 
gentlemen  rode  at  full  speed  into  the  Rue  lUiade,  and, 
after  trvin^r  recklessly  to  force  their  way  throujrh,  came  to 
a  sudden  halt,  in  the  nn'dst  of  the  sur<jjin^  mass. 

The  Intendant,  Cadet  and  Varin,  had  ridden  from 
Bcaumanoir,  followed  by  a  train  of  still  Hushed  f^uests, 
who,  after  a  hasty  piuihcation,  had  returned  with  their  host 
to  the  city — a  noisy  troop,  lociuacious,  laugiiin^,  shoutin<if, 
as  is  the  wont  of  men,  reckless  at  all  times,  and  still  more 
defiant,  when  under  the  influence  of  wine. 

"What  is  the  meaninj^  of  this  rabble.  Cadet  ?"  asked 
Bigot  ;  "  they  seem  to  be  no  friends  of  yours,  'i'hat  fellow 
is  wishing  you  in  a  hot  place  !  "  added  J^igot,  laughing,  as 
he  pointed  out  a  habitan  who  was  shouting  ^'  A  bas  C(i(/et  /" 

"  Nor  friends  of  yours,  either,"  replied  Cadet.  "  They 
have  not  recognized  you  yet,  IJigot.  When  they  do,  they 
will  wish  you  in  the  hottest  place  of  all !  " 

The  Intendant  was  not  known  personally  to  the  habi- 
tans,  as  were  Cadet,  Varin  and  the  rest.  Loud  shouts  and 
execrations  were  freely  vented  against  these,  as  soon  as 
they  were  recognized. 

"  Has  this  rabble  waylaid  us  to  insult  us  ?  "  asked  Bigot. 
But  it  can  hardly  be  tJiat  they  knew  of  our  return  to  the 


THE  ClflEN  D'OR. 


I2S 


city  to  day."     Tlie  Intctulant  bcj^an  to  jerk  liis  horse  round 
impatiriilly,  but  without  iivail. 

"Oh,  r,(),  your  Mvccllency !  it  is  tlu:  rabble  which  the 
Governor  has  sununoueil  to  t lie  Kind's  <vv7rt'.  They  are 
payin}^  their  respects  to  the  (iohlen  !)(%  which  is  the  idol 
the  nu)b  worshii)s  just  now.  They  did  nov  expect  us  to 
interrupt  their  devotions,  I  fancy." 

"The  vile  nioutons  !  their  lleece  is  not  worth  the 
shearing!"  exclaimed  Hifijot,  angrily,  at  the  mention  of  the 
Golden  Dop^,  which,  as  he  glanced  upwards  seemed  to 
glare  defiantly  upon  him. 

"  C'lear  the  way,  villains  !  "  cried  liigot,  loudly,  while 
darting  liis  horse  into  the  crowd.  "  I'lunge  that  Flanders 
cart-horse  of  yours  into  them,  Cadet,  and  do  not  spare 
their  toes  I " 

Cadet's  rough  disposition  chimerl  well  with  the  Tnten- 
dant's  wish,  "("ome  o  Varin,  and  the  rest  of  you."' cri'-d 
he,  "give  spur  and  fight  your  way  through  the  rabble." 

The  whole  troop  plunged  madly  at  the  crowd  striking 
right  antl  left  with  their  hea\'y  hunting  whips.  A  violent 
scuffle  ensued  ;  many  habitaiis  were  ridden  down  and 
some  of  the  horsemen  dismounted.  The  Intendant's  Gas- 
con blood  got  furious.  He  struck  heavily,  right  and  left, 
and  many  a  bleeding  tuque  marked  his  track  in  the  crowd. 

'I'he  hahitans  recognized  him  at  last,  and  a  tremen- 
dous yell  burst  out.  "Long  live  the  Golden  Dog!  Down 
with  the  Friponne  !  "  while  the  more  bold  ventured  on  the 
cry.  "  Down  with  the  Intendant,  and  the  thieves  of  the 
Grand  Comjiany  !  " 

Fortunately  for  the  troop  of  horsemen,  the  hahitans 
were  utterly  unarmed.  But  stones  began  to  be  thrown, 
and  efforts  were  made  by  them,  not  always  unsuccessfully, 
to  pull  the  riders  off  their  horses.  Poor  Jean  La  Marche's 
darling  child,  his  favorite  vif)lin,  was  crushed  at  the  first 
charge.  Jean  rushed  at  the  Intendant's  bridle,  and  received 
a  blow  which  levelled  him. 

The  Intendant  and  all  the  troop  now  drew  their  swords. 
A  bloody  catastrophe  seemed  impending,  when  the  Bour- 
geois Philibert,  seeing  the  slate  of  affairs  dispatched  a 
messenger  with  tidings  to  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  and 
rushed  himself  into  the  street  amidst  the  surging  crowd, 
imploring,  threatening  and  compelling  them  to  give  way. 

He  was  soon  recognized,  and  Cheered  by  the  people  ; 


w 


t26 


THE  cniEN  D'OR. 


I 


'ill 


if 


but  even  his  influence  nii^ht  have  failed  to  calm  the  fiery 
passions  excited  by  the  Intcndant's  violence,  had  not  the 
drums  of  the  approaching;  soldiery  suddenly  resounded 
above  the  noise  of  the  riot.  In  a  few  minutes,  long  files 
of  glittering  bayonets  were  seen  streaming  down  the  Rue 
du  Fort.  Colonel  St.  Remi  rode  at  their  head,  forming 
his  troops  in  position  to  charge  the  crowd.  The  Colonel 
saw  at  once  the  state  of  affairs,  and  being  a  man  of  judg- 
ment, commanded  peace  before  resorting  to  force.  He 
was  at  once  obeyed.  The  people  stood  still  and  in  silence. 
They  fell  back  quietly  before  the  troops.  They  had  no 
purpose  to  resist  the  authorities, — indeed,  had  no  purpose 
whatever.  A  wav  was  made  clear  bv  the  soldiers,  ancl  the 
Intendant  and  his  friends  were  extricated  from  their  danger. 

They  rode  at  once  out  of  the  mob,  amid  a  \'olley  of 
execrations,  which  were  replied  to  by  angry  oaths  and 
threats  of  the  cavaliers  as  they  galloped  across  the  Place 
d'Armes,  and  rode  pell-mell  into  the  gateway  of  the  Chateau 
of  St.  Louis. 

The  crowd,  relieved  of  their  presence,  grew  calm  ;  and 
some  of  the  more  timid  of  them  got  apprehensive  of  the 
consequences  of  this  outrage  upon  the  Royal  Intendant. 
They  dispersed  quietly,  singly,  and  in  groups,  each  one 
hoping  that  he  might  not  be  called  upon  to  account  for  the 
day's  proceedings. 

The  Intendant  and  his  cortege  of  friends  rode  furiously 
into  the  court-yard  of  the  Chateau  of  St.  Louis,  dishe\'elled, 
bespattered  and  some  of  them  hatless.  They  dismounted, 
and  foaming  with  rage,  rushed  through  the  lobbies  and 
with  heavy  trampling  of  feet,  clattering  of  scabbards,  and 
a  bedlam  of  angry  tongues,  burst  into  the  Council  Cham- 
ber. 

The  Intendant's  eyes  shot  fire.  His  Gascon  blood  was 
at  fever  heat,  Hushing  his  swarthy  cheek  like  the  purple  hue 
of  a  hurricane.  He  rushed  at  once  to  the  Council  table, 
and  seeing  the  Governor,  saluted  him,  but  spoke  in  tones 
forcibly  kept  under  by  a  viohmt  effort. 

"  Your  Excellency  and  (jrentlemen  of  the  Council  will 
excuse  our  delay,"  shouted  liigot,  "when  I  inform  you 
that  /,  the  Royal  Intendant  of  New  France,  have  been 
insulted,  pelted,  and  my  \ery  life  direatened  by  a  seditious 
mob  congregated  in  the  streets  of  Quebec." 

"  1  grieve  much,  and  sympathize  with  your  Excellency's 


THE  CHIEy  D'OR. 


127 


)(1  was 
e  hue 
table, 
tones 

;    will 

you 

been 

litious 


indignation,"  replied  the  Governor,  warmly,  "T  rejoice  you 
have  escaped  unhurt.  I  dispatched  the  troops  to  your 
assistance,  but  have  not  yet  learned  the  cause  of  the  riot." 

"The  cause  of  the  riot  was  the  popular  hatred  of  my- 
self, for  enforcing  the  Royal  ordinances,  and  the  seditious 
example  set  the  rabble  by  the  notorious  merchant,  Phili- 
bert,  who  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  mischief  "n  New  France." 

The  Governor  looked  fixedly  at  the  Intendant,  as  he 
replied  quietly:  "The  Sieur  Philiber*:,  although  a  mer- 
chant, is  a  gentleman  of  buth  and  loyal  principles,  and 
would  be  the  last  man  alive,  I  think,  to  excite  a  riot.  Did 
you  see  the  Bourgeois,  Chevalier?" 

"The  crowd  tilled  the  street  near  his  magazines,  cheer- 
ing for  the  Bourgeois  and  the  (ioiden  Dog.  We  rode  up 
and  endeavored  to  force  our  wav  throuy:h.  liut  1  did  not 
see  the  iiourgeois,  himself,  until  the  disturbance  had  at- 
tained its  full  proportions." 

"And  then,  your  Kxcellency?  Surely  the  Bourgeois 
was  not  encouraging  the  mob,  or  participating  in  the 
riot  t " 

"No!  I  do  not  charge  him  with  participating  in  the 
riot,  although  the  mob  were  .dl  his  friends  and  partisans. 
Moreover,"  said  Bigot,  frankly,  for  he  felt  he  owed  his 
safety  to  the  interference  of  the  Bourgeois,  "it  would  be 
unfair  not  to  acknowledge  that  he  did  what  he  could  to 
protect  us  from  the  rablile.  I  charge  Bhilibert  with  sowing 
the  sedition  that  caused  the  riot,  not  with  rioting  himself." 

"  But  I  accuse  him  of  both,  and  of  all  the  mob  has 
done!"  thundered  Varin,  enraged  to  hear  the  Intendant 
speak  with  moderation  and  justice.  "The  house  of  the 
Golden  Vi^g  is  a  den  of  traitors.  It  ought  to  be  pulled 
down,  and  its  stones  built  into  a  monument  of  infamy,  over 
its  owner,  hung  like  a  dog  in  the  mai"ket-|)lace." 

"  Silence,  Varin  !  "  exclaimed  the  Governor  sternly. 
"  I  will  not  hear  the  Sieur  Philibert  spf)ken  of  in  these 
injurious  terms.  The  Intendant  does  not  charge  him 
with  this  disturbance  ;  neither  sliall  you." 

"  Par  Dii'u  /  yon  shall  not,  Varin  !  "  burst  in  La  Come 
St.  Luc,  roused  to  unusual  wrath  by  the  opprobrium  heaped 
upon  his  friend  the  Bourgeois.  "  And  you  shall  answer 
to  me  for  that  you  have  said  !  " 

"  La  Corne  !  La  Corne  !  '*  Th^^  Governor  saw  a  chal- 
lenge impending,  and  interposed  with  vehemence.     "  This 


7 


II 


128 


T//£  CHIEN  D'OR. 


is  a  council  of  war,  and  not  a  place  for  recriminations. 
Sit  clown,  dear  old  friend,  and  aid  me  to  j]jet  on  with  the 
business  of  the  King  and  his  Colony,  which  we  are  here 
met  to  consider." 

The  appeal  went  to  the  heart  of  La  Corne.  He  sat 
down.  "  You  have  spoken  generously.  Chevalier  Bigot, 
respecting  the  Bourgeois  Philibert,"  continued  the  Gover- 
nor. "  1  am  pleased  that  you  have  done  so.  My  aide- 
de-Camp,  Colonel  Philibert,  who  is  just  entering  the 
Council,  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  your  Plxcellency  does 
justice  to  his  father  in  this  matter." 

"  The  blessing  of  St.  Bennet's  boots  upon  such  justice," 
muttered  Cadet  to  himself.  ''  I  was  a  fool  not  to  run  my 
sword  through  Philibert,  when  I  had  the  chance." 

The  Governor  repeated   to  Colonel   Philibert  what  had 
been  said  bv  Bigot. 

Colonel  Philibert  bowed  to  the  Intendant.  "  I  am 
under  obligation  to  the  Chevalier  Bigot,"  said  he,  "  but 
it  astonishes  me  much  that  any  one  should  dare  implicate 
my  father  in  such  a  disturbance.  Certainly  the  Intendant 
does  him  but  justice." 

This  remaik  was  not  pleasing  to  Bigot,  who  hated 
Colonel  Philibert  equally  with  his  father.  *' I  merely  said 
he  had  not  participated  in  *^he  riot.  Colonel  Philibert, 
which  was  true.  I  did  not  excuse  your  father  for  being 
at  the  head  of  the  party  among  wiiom  these  outrages 
arise.  I  simply  spoke  truth.  Colonel  Philibert.  I  do  not 
eke  out  by  the  inch  my  opinion  of  any  man.  I  care  not 
for  the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  more  than  for  the  meanest  blue 
cap  in  his  fallowing." 

'I'his  was  an  ungracious  speech.  Bigot  meant  it  to  be 
such.  He  repented  almost  of  the  witness  he  had  borne 
to  the  Bourgeois'  endeavors  to  quell  the  mob.  But  he  was 
too  profoundly  inditferent  to  men's  opinions  respecting 
himself  to  care  to  lie.  Truth  was  easier  than  lying,  and 
suited  better  his  moral  hardihood.  Not  that  he  loved 
truth  for  its  own  sake — far  f'om  it  ;  but  Iving  is  born  of 
cowardice,  and  Bigot  was  no  coward  ;  he  feared  no  one, 
respected  no  one.  When  he  did  lie,  it  was  with  deliberate 
purpose  and  without  scruple,  but  he  only  did  it  when  the 
object,  in  his  judgment,  was  worth  lying  for,  and  even 
then  he  felt  self  accused  of  unmanly  conduct. 

Colonel    Philibert  relented   the   Intendant's   sneer  at 


THE  CrilEy  D'OR. 


129 


ibert, 


t rages 


his  father.  He  faced  Bigot,  saying  to  him  :  "  The  Chev- 
alier Bigot  has  done  but  simple  justice  to  my  father  with 
reference  to  his  conduct  in  regard  to  the  riot.  But  let  the 
Intendant  recollect  that,  although  a  merchant,  my  father  is 
above  all  things  a  Norman  gentleman,  who  never  swerved 
a  hair-breadth  from  the  path  of  honor — a  gentleman 
whose  ancient  nobilitv  would  dignify  even  the  Royal 
Intendant."  Bigot  looked  daggers  at  this  thrust  at  his 
own  comparatively  humble  origin.  "And  this  I  have 
further  Ijo  say,"  continued  Philibert,  looking  straight  in  the 
eyes  of  Bigot,  Varin  and  Cadet,  "  whoever  impugns  my 
father's  honor  impugns  mine  ;  and  no  man,  high  or  low, 
shall  do  that  and  escape  chastisement !  " 

The  greater  part  of  the  otlicers  seated  round  the 
Council  Board,  listened  with  marks  of  approval  to  Phili- 
bert's  vindication  of  his  father.  But  no  one  challenged 
his  words,  although  dark  ominous  looks  glanced  from  one 
to  another  among  the  friends  of  the  Inteidant.  Bigot 
smothered  his  anger  for  the  present,  however ;  and  to  pre- 
vent further  reply  from  his  followers,  he  rose,  and  bowing 
to  the  Governor,  begged  His  Excellency  to  open  the 
Council. 

"We  have  delayed  the  business  of  the  King  too  long 
with  these  personal  recriminations,"  said  he.  "  I  shall 
leave  this  riot  to  be  dealt  with  by  the  King's  Courts,  who 
will  sharply  punish  both  instigators  and  actors  in  this 
outrage  upon  the  Royal  authority." 

These  words  seemed  to  end  the  dispute  for  the  present. 


xtuig 
,  and 
oved 

)rn  of 
one, 

•crate 

11  the 
even 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE    COUNCIL    OF    WAR 


The  Council  now  opened  in  due  form.  The  Secretary 
read  the  Royal  despatches,  which  were  listened  to  with 
attention  and  resjjcct,  although  with  looks  of  dissent,  in 
the  countenances  of  many  of  the  officers. 

The  Governor  rose,  and  in  a  quiet,  almost  a  solemn 
strain,    addressed   the    Council  :     "  Gentlemen,"  said    he, 


130 


THE  C/7/EN'  D'OR. 


II 


"  From  the  tenor  of  the  Royal  dispatches,  just  read  by  the 
Secretary,  it  is  clear  that  our  beloved  New  France  is  in 
great  (hinder.  The  King,  overwhelmed  by  the  powers  in 
alliance  against  him,  can  no  longer  reinforce  our  army 
here.  The  English  Hcet  is  supreme — for  the  moment 
only,  I  hope — "  added  the  Governor,  as  if  with  a  prevision 
of  his  own  future  triumphs  on  the  ocean.  "  English  troops 
are  pouring  into  New  York  and  l>oston,  to  combine  with 
the  militia  of  New  England  and  the  middle  colonics  in  a 
grand  attack  upon  New  France.  'I'hey  have  commenced 
the  erection  of  a  great  fort  at  Chouagen,  on  Lake  Ontario, 
to  dispute  supremacy  with  our  stronghold  at  Niagara,  and 
the  gates  of  Carillon  may  ere  long  have  to  prove  their 
strength  in  keejjing  the  enemy  out  of  the  Valley  of  the 
Richelieu.  1  fear  not  for  Carillon,  gentlemen,  in  the 
ward  of  the  gallant  Count  de  Lusignan,  whom  I  am  glad 
to  see  at  our  Council.     I  think  Carillon  is  safe." 

The  Count  de  Lusignan,  a  grey-headed  officer,  of 
soldierly  bearing,  bowed  low  to  this  complimeiu  from  the 
Governor.  "  I  ask  the  Count  de  Lusignan,''  continued  the 
Governor,  "  what  he  thinks  would  result  from  our  with- 
drawing the  garrison  from  Carillon,  as  is  suggested  in 
the  desijatches  ? " 

"  The  Five  Nations  would  be  on  the  Richelieu  in  a 
week,  and  the  English  in  Montreal,  a  month  after  such 
a  piece  of  folly  on  our  part,"  exclaimed  the  Count  de 
Lusignan, 

"  \'ou  cannot  counsel  the  abandonment  of  Carillon, 
then.  Count?"  A  smile  played  over  the  face  of  the 
Governor,  as  if  he  too  felt  the  absurdity  of  his  question. 

"  Not  till  Quebec  itself  fall  into  the  enemy's  hands. 
When  that  happens,  His  ^L^jes^y  will  need  another  adviser 
in  the  place  of  the  old  Count  de  Lusignan." 

"Well  spoken.  Count !  \x\  your  hands  Carillon  is  safe, 
and  will  one  day,  should  the  enemy  assail  it,  be  covered 
with  wreaths  of  victory,  and  its  flag  be  .iie  glory  of  New 
France." 

'*  So  belt,  Governor.  Give  me  but  the  Rojal  Roussillon, 
and  I  pledge  you  neither  English,  Dutch,  nor  Iroquois, 
shall  ever  cross  the  wateis  of  St.  Sacrament." 

"  You  s[)eak  like  your  ancestor,  the  crusader,  Count. 
But  I  cannot  spare  the  Royal  Roussillon.  Think  you, 
you  can  hold  Carillon  with  your  present  garrison  ?" 


THE  CTJIEN  D'OR. 


131 


"Against  all  the  force  of  New  f^njrlaiKl.  Va\\.  I  cannot 
promise  the  same  against  the  iMiglish  Regulars,  now  land- 
in<>:  at  New  York." 

"They  are  the  same  whom  the  king  defeated  at 
Fontenoy,  are  they  not  ?  "  interrupted  the  Inlendant,  who, 
courtier  as  he  was,  disliked  the  tenor  of  the  Royal  des- 
patches as  nuich  as  any  ofiicer  present — all  the  more  as 
he  knew  La  I'ompadour  was  advising  peace  out  of  a 
woma!  ^  considerations,  rather  than  upholding  the  glory 
of  France. 

"  .'  mong  them  are  many  troops  who  fought  us  at 
Fontenoy.  I  learned  the  fact  from  an  iMiglish  jirisoncr, 
whom  our  Indians  brought  in  from  Fort  Lydius,''  replie  1 
the  Count  de  Lusignan. 

"Well,  the  more  of  them  the  merrier,"  laughed  La 
Corne  St.  Luc.  "'I'he  bigger  the  prize  the  richer  they 
Avho  take  it.  The  treasure  chests  of  the  I'jiglisJi  will 
make  up  for  the  beggarly  packs  of  the  New  iMiglanders. 
Dried  stock  tish,  and  eel  skin  garters,  to  drive  awav  the 
rheumatism,  were  the  usual  prizes  we  got  from  them  down 
in  Acadia!" 

"  The  English  of  l^'ontenoy  are  not  such  des])icable 
foes,"  remarkfd  the  (."hc\  alier  de  Lery.  "  They  sufficed 
to  take  Louisbourg,  and  if  we  discontinue  our  walls,  will 
suffice  to  take  Quebec." 

'*  Louisbourg  was  not  taken  by  tlicw,  but  fell  through 
the  mutiny  oi;  the  base  Swiss  !  "  replied  liigot,  touched 
sharply  by  any  allusion  to  that  fortress,  where  he  had 
figured  so  discreditably;  "the  \ile  hirelings  demanded 
money  of  their  commander,  when  they  should  have  drawn 
the  blood  of  the  enemv  !  "  added  he  anijrilv. 

"Satan  is  bold,  but  he  would  blush  in  the  presence  of 
Bigot,"  remarked  La  Corne  St.  Luc  to  an  Acadian  officer, 
seated  next  him.  "  JJigot  kejU  the  King's  treasure,  and 
defrauded  the  soldiers  of  their  [)ay  :  hence  the  mutiny  and 
the  fall  of  Louisbourg." 

"It  is  what  tlu'  whole  army  knows,"  replied  the  officer. 
"  But  hark  !  the  Abbe'  Piquet  is  going  to  speak.  It  is  a 
new  thing  to  see  clergy  in  a  council  of  war!  " 

"  No  one  has  a  better  right  to  speak  here  than  the 
Abbd  Piquet,"  replied  La  Corne.  "  No  one  has  sent 
more  Indian  allies  into  the  field  to  fight  for  New  France, 
than  the  patriotic  Abbe." 


132 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR 


:.  ^! 


I 


I  'I 


Other  officers  did  not  sli;ire  the  generous  sentiments  of 
La  Corne  St.  Luc.  They  thought  it  derogatory  to  pure 
military  men  to  listen  to  a  priest  on  the  affairs  of  the  war. 

*'  The  Marshal  de  Bclleisle  would  not  permit  even 
Cardinal  de  P'leury  to  put  his  red  stockings  beneath  his 
Council  table,"  remarked  a  strict  martinet  of  La  Serre. 
•'  And  here  we  have  a  whole  flock  of  black  gowns  darken- 
ing our  regimentals  !     What  would  Voltaire  say?" 

"  He  would  say,  that  when  priests  turn  soldiers,  it  is 
time  for  soldiers  to  turn  tinkers,  and  mend  holes  in  pots, 
instead  of  making  holes  in  our  enemies,"  rei)lied  his  com- 
panion, a  fashionable  free  thinker  of  the  day. 

"Well,  I  am  ready  to  turn  pedlar  any  day  !  The  King's 
army  will  go  to  the  dogs  fast  enough  since  the  Governor 
commissions  Recoilets  and  Jesuits  to  act  as  Royal  officers," 
was  the  petulant  remark  of  another  ofificer  of  La  Serre. 

A  strong  prejudice  existed  in  the  army  against  the  Abbe 
Piquet  for  his  opposition  to  the  presence  of  French  troops 
in  his  Indian  missionary  \'illages.  "hey  demoralized  his 
neophytes,  and  many  of  the  officers  shared  in  the  lucrative 
traffic  of  fire  water  to  the  Indians.  The  Abbe  was  zealous 
in  stopping  those  abuses,  and  the  oflficers  complained  bit- 
terly of  his  over-protection  of  the  Indians. 

The  famous  "  King's  Missionary,"  as  he  was  called, 
stood  up  with  an  air  of  dignity  aiid  authority  that  seemed 
to  assert  his  right  to  be  present  in  the  council  of  war,  for 
the  scornful  glances  of  many  of  the  officers  had  not  escaped 
his  quick  glance. 

The  keen  black  eyes,  thin  resolute  lips,  and  high  swarthy 
forehead  of  the  Abbe,  would  ha\e  well  become  the  plumed 
hat  of  a  Marshal  of  France.  His  loose  black  robe,  looped 
up  for  freedom,  reminded  one  of  a  grave  Senator  of  Venice 
whose  eye  never  quailed  at  any  policy,  however  sev^ere,  if 
required  for  the  safety  of  the  state. 

The  Abbe  held  in  his  hand  a  large  roll  of  wampum,  the 
tokens  of  treaties  made  by  him  with  the  Indian  nations  of 
the  west,  pledging  their  alliance  and  aid  to  the  great  On- 
ontio.  as  they  called  the  Governor  of  New  France. 

"  My  Lord  Governor  !  "  said  the  Abbe',  placing  his  grent 
roll  on  tiie  table, — "  I  thank  you  for  admitting  the  mis- 
sionaries to  the  council.  We  appear  less  as  Churchmen  on 
this  occasion  than  as  the  King's  Ambassadors,  although  I 
trust  that  all  we  have  done  will  redound  to  God's  glory, 


THE  COUNCIL  OF  WAR. 


"^ZZ 


nor 


and  the  spread  of  relifjion  among  the  heathen.  These  belts 
of  wampum  are  tokens  of  the  treaties  we  have  made  with 
the  numerous  and  warlike  tribes  of  the  great  west.  I  bear 
to  the  Governor  pledges  of  alliance  from  the  ISfiamis  and 
Shawnees  of  the  great  valley  of  the  Ilelle  Riviere,  which 
they  call  the  Ohio.  I  am  commissioned  to  tell  Onontio, 
that  they  are  at  peace  with  the  King  and  at  war  with  his 
enemies  from  this  time  forth  forever.  I  have  set  up  the 
arms  of  I'Yance  on  the  banks  of  the  Belle  Ri\ibre,  and 
claimed  all  its  lands  and  waters  as  the  just  appanage  of 
our  sovereign  from  the  Alleghanies  to  the  plantations  of 
Louisiana.  The  Sacs  and  Foxes,  of  the  Mississippi  ;  the 
Potlawatoniics,  W'innebagoes  and  Chippewas  of  a  hundred 
bands  who  fish  in  the  great  rivers  and  lakes  of  the  West  ; 
the  warlike  Ottawas  who  have  carried  the  Algonquin  tongue 
to  the  banks  of  Lake  P>ie,  in  short,  every  enemy  of  the 
Iroquois  have  pledged  themselves  to  take  the  field  when- 
ever the  Governor  shall  require  the  axe  to  be  dug  up  and 
lifted  against  the  English  and  the  Five  Nations.  Next 
summer  the  chiefs  of  all  these  tribes  will  come  to  Quebec 
and  ratify  in  a  solemn  General  Council  the  wam[)ums  they 
now  send,  by  me  and  the  other  missionaries,  my  brothers 
in  the  Lord  1  " 

The  Abbe,  with  the  slow  formal  manner  of  one  long  ac- 
customed to  the  speech  and  usages  of  the  Indians,  un- 
rolled the  belts  of  wampum  many  fathoms  in  length,  fasten- 
ed end  to  end  to  indicate  the  length  of  the  alliance  of  the 
various  tribes  with  France.  The  Abbe  interpreted  their 
meaning,  and  with  his  finger  pointed  out  the  totems  or 
signs  manual — usually  a  bird,  beast  or  fish — of  the  chiefs 
who  had  signed  the  roll. 

The  Council  looked  at  the  wamjDums  with  intense  in- 
terest, well  knowing  the  important  part  these  Indians  were 
capable  of  assuming  in  the  war  with  England, 

"  These  are  great  and  welcome  pledges  you  bring  us, 
Abbe,"  said  the  Governor  ;  "  they  are  proofs  at  once  of 
your  ability  and  of  your  zealous  labors  for  the  King.  A 
great  public  duty  has  been  ably  discharged  by  you  and  your 
fellow-missionaries,  whose  loyalty  and  devotion  to  France 
it  shall  be  my  pleasure  to  lay  before  his  Majesty.  The  Star 
of  Hope  glitters  in  the  western  horizon,  to  encourage  us 
under  the  clouds  of  the  eastern.  Even  the  loss  of  Acadia, 
should  it  be  final,  will  be  compensated  by  the  acquisition 


134 


THE  CI/IE.VD'OR. 


of  the  boundless  fertile  territories  of  the  Belle  Riviere,  and 
of  the  Illinois,  The  Abbe  I'iquet  ;ind  his  fellow  mission- 
aries have  won  the  hearts  of  the  native  tribes  of  the  West. 
There  is  hope  now  at  last  of  unilinf^  New  France  with 
Louisiana  in  one  unbroken  chain  of  I'Yench  territory." 

"It  has  been  my  ambition,  since  His  Majesty  honored 
me  with  the  Government  of  New  France,  to  acquire  posses- 
sion of  those  vast  territories,  covered  with  forests  old  as 
time,  and  in  soil  rich  and  fertile  as  Provence  and 
Normandy." 

"1  have  served  the  King  all  my  life,"  continued  the- 
Governor,  "  and  served  him  with  honor  and  even  distinc- 
tion ;  permit  me  to  say  this  much  of  myself." 

He  spoke  in  a  frank,  manly  way,  for  vanity  prompted  no 
part  of  his  speech.  "  Many  li^reat  services  have  I  rendered 
my  country,  but  I  feel  that  the  ij^reatest  service  I  could  yet 
do  Old  France  or  New, would  be  the  i)lanlin<^  of  ten  thousand 
sturdy  peasants  and  artisans  of  France  in  the  valley  of  the 
far  West,  to  make  its  forests  vocal  with  the  speech  of  our 
native  land." 

"  This  present  war  may  end  suddenly  ;  I  think  it  will. 
The  late  victorv  at  Lawfelt  has  stricken  the  allies  under  the 
Duke  of  Cumberland,  a  blow,  hard  as  Fontenoy.  Rumors 
of  renewed  nei^otiations  for  peace  are  flying  thick  through 
Eurojie.  God  speed  the  peacemakers,  and  bless  them,  I 
say  !  With  peace  comes  opportunity.  Then,  if  ever,  if 
France  be  true  to  herself,  and  to  her  heritage  in  the  New 
World,  she  will  people  the  valley  of  the  Ohio  and  secure 
forever  her  supremacy  in  America !  " 

"But  our  forts  far  and  near  must  be  preserved  in  the 
meantime.  We  must  not  withdraw  from  one  foot  of  French 
territory.  Quebec  must  be  walled  and  made  safe  against 
all  attack  by  land  or  water.  1  therefore  will  join  the  coun- 
cil in  a  resjiectful  remonstrance  to  the  Count  de  Maurepas, 
against  the  inopportune  despatches  just  received  from  His 
Majesty.  I  trust  the  Royal  Intendant  will  favor  the  coun- 
cil now  with  his  opinion  on  this  important  matter,  and  I  shall 
be  happy  to  have  the  cooperation  of  His  Plxcellency  in 
measures  of  such  vital  consequence  to  the  Colony  and  to 
France." 

The  Governor  sat  down,  after  courteously  motioning  the 
Intendant  to  rise  and  address  the  Council. 

The  Intendant  hated  the  mention  of  peace.     His  mter- 


THE  COUNCIL  OF  WAR. 


135 


ests  and  the  interests  of  his  associates  of  the  (Irand  Com- 
pany were  all  iivolved  in  the  prolongation  of  the  war. 

War  enabled  the  Grand  Company  to  monopolize  the 
trade  and  military  expenditure  of  Ni-w  I'^rance.  'I'he  enorm- 
ous fortunes  its  members  matle  and  spent  with  such  reck- 
less prodij^ality  would  by  peace  be  dried  uj)  in  their 
source.  The  yoke  would  be  thrown  oil  the  people's  neck, 
trade  would  be  again  free. 

Bigot  was  far-sighted  enough  to  see  that  clamors  would 
be  raised  and  listened  to  in  the  leisure  of  peace.  Pros- 
ecutions for  illegal  exactions  might  follow,  and  all  the 
support  of  his  friends  at  Court  might  not  be  able  to  save 
him    and    his   associates   from  ruin — perhaps  punishment. 

The  Parliaments  of  Paris,  Rouen  and  iJrittauy  still  re- 
tained a  shadow  of  independence.  It  was  only  a  shadow, 
but  the  fury  of  Jansenism  supplied  the  lack  of  political 
courage  ;  and  men  opposed  the  Court  and  its  policy  under 
pretence  of  defending  the  rights  of  the  Gallic  Church  and 
the  old  religion  of  the  nation. 

Piigot  knew  he  was  safe  so  long  as  the  Marquise  de 
Pompadour  governed  the  King  and  liie  Kingdom.  But 
Louis  XV.  was  capricious  and  unfaiihful  in  his  fancies  ;*he 
had  changed  his  mistresses  and  his  policy  with  them  numy 
times,  and  might  change  once  more,  to  the  ruin  of  Bigot 
and   all  the  dependents  of  La  Pompadour. 

Bigot's  letters  bv  the  Flcur  de  Lvs  were  calculated  to 
alarm  him.  A  rival  was  springing  up  at  Court  to  challenge 
La  Pompailour's  supremacy.  The  fair  and  fragile  Lange 
Vaubernier  had  already  attracted  the  King's  eye  ;  and  the 
courtiers  versed  in  his  ways  read  the  incipient  signs  of  a 
future  favorite. 

Little  did  the  laughing  Vaubernier  foresee  the  day 
when,  as  ISLidame  du  Barry,  she  would  reign  as  Dame  du 
Palais,  after  the  death  of  La  Pompadour.  Still  less  could 
she  imagine  that,  in  her  old  age,  in  ''  j  next  reign,  she 
would  be  dragged  to  the  guillotine,  filling  the  streets  of 
Paris  with  her  shrieks,  heard  above  the  bowlings  of  the  mob 
of  the  Revolution  :  "  Give  me  life  !  life  !  for  my  repentance  ! 
Life  !  to  devote  it  to  the  Republic  !  Life  !  for  the  surrender 
of  all  my  wealth  to  the  nation  !  "  And  death,  not  life,  was 
given  in  answer  to  her  passionate  pleadings. 

These  dark  days  were  yet  \\\  the  wonib  of  the  future, 
however.     The  gidd}'  Vaubernier  was  at   this  time  gayly 


136 


TIIECniEND'OR. 


catching  at  the  heart  of  the  King  ;  but  her  procedure  filled 
the  mind  of  Higot  with  anxiety.  The  fall  of  La  Pompadour 
would  entail  swift  ruin  upon  himself  and  associates.  He 
knew  it  was  the  intrigues  of  this  girl  which  had  caused  La 
I'ompadour  suddenly  to  declare  for  peace  in  order  to  watch 
the  King  more  surely  in  his  palace.  Therefore  the  word 
peace  and  the  name  of  Vaubernier,  were  e(|ually  odious  to 
liigot,  and  he  was  perplexed  in  no  small  degree  how  to 
act. 

Moreover,  be  it  confessed,  that  although  a  bad  man  and 
a  corrupt  statesman,  IJigot  was  a  Frenchman,  proud  of  the 
national  success  and  jrlorv.  While  robbing  her  treasures 
with  one  hand,  he  was  ready  with  his  sword  in  the  other  to 
give  life  and  all  in  her  defence.  Iiigot  was  bitterly  oj> 
posed  to  English  supremacy  in  North  America.  The  loss 
of  Louisbourg,  though  much  his  fault,  stung  him  to  the 
quick,  as  a  triumph  of  the  national  enemy  ;  and  in  those 
final  days  of  New  France,  after  the  fall  of  Montcalm,  iiigot 
was  the  last  man  to  yield,  and  when  all  others  counselled 
retreat,  he  would  not  consent  to  the  surrender  of  Quebec  to 
the  English. 

'I'o-day,  in  the  Council  of  War,  Bigot  stood  up  to  re- 
spond to  the  appeal  of  the  Governor,  He  glanced  his  eye 
coolly,  yet  respectfully,  over  the  Council.  His  raised  hand 
sparkled  with  gems,  the  gifts  of  courtiers  and  favorites  of  the 
King.  ''Cenllemen  of  the  Council  of  War!  "  said  he — "  I 
a[)prove  with  all  my  heart  of  the  words  of  His  Excellency, 
the  Governor,  with  reference  to  our  fortifications  and  the 
maintenance  of  our  frontiers.  It  is  our  dutv  to  remonstrate, 
as  councillors  of  the  Kins;  in  the  Colonv,  airainst  the  tenor 
of  the  despatches  of  the  Count  de  Maurepas.  The  City  of 
Quebec,  properly  fortified,  will  be  equivalent  to  an  army  of 
men  in  the  field,  and  the  security  and  defence  of  the 
whole  Colony  depend  upon  its  walls.  There  can  be  but 
one  intelligent  opinion  in  the  Council  on  that  point,  and 
that  opinion  should  be  laid  before  His  Majesty  before  this 
despatch  be  acted  on." 

"  The  pressure  of  the  war  is  great  upon  us  just  now.  The 
loss  of  the  fleet  of  the  Marquis  de  la  Jonquiere,  has  greatly 
interrupted  our  communications  with  France,  and  Canada 
is  left  much  to  its  own  resources.  But  Frenchmen  !  the 
greater  the  peril,  the  greater  the  glory  of  our  defence  !  And 
1  feel  a  lively  confidence," — Bigot  glanced  proudly  round 
the  table  at  the  brave,  animated  faces  that  turned  towards 


THE  COUXCIL  OF  WAR. 


m 


him — **  T  feel  a  lively  confuieMcc  that  in  the  skill,  devotion 
and  gallantry  of  the  officers  I  see  around  this  Council  table, 
we  shall  be  able  to  repel  all  our  enemies,  and  bear  the 
Royal  lla<i  to  fresh  triumphs  in  North  America." 

This  timely  flattery  was  not  lost  upon  the  susceptible 
minds  of  the  ol'licers  present,  who  testified  their  approval 
by  vigorous  tapping  on  the  table,  and  cries  of  "  Well  said  I 
Chevalier  Intendant  !" 

"  I  thank,  heartily,  the  venerable  Abbe  Piquet,"  con- 
tinued he,  ''for  his  <;lori()Us  success  in  convertinj^  the  war- 
like savages  of  the  West,  from  foes  to  fast  friends  of  the 
King;  and,  as  Royal  Intendant,  1  jjledge  the  Abbe  all  my 
hel|5  in  the  establishment  of  his  proposed  T'ortand  Mission 
at  La  Presentation,  for  the  purpose  of  dividing  the  power 
of  the  Iroquois." 

"That  is  right  well  said,  if  the  devil  said  it !"  remarked 
La  Corne  St.  Luc,  to  the  Acadian  sitting  next  him. 
"There  is  bell-metal  in  Higot,  and  he  rings  well,  if  properly 
struck.      IMty  so  cle\er  a  fellow  shoukl  be  a  knave  !  " 

"  Fine  words  butter  no  parsnips,  Chevalier  La  Corne," 
replied  the  Acadian,  whom  no  eloquence  could  soften. 
"  Bigot  sold  Louisbourg  !  '  This  was  a  conunon  but  erro- 
neous opinion  in  Acadia. 

"  Bigot  butlers  his  own  parsnips  well,  Colonel,"  re- 
plied La  Corne  St.  Luc — "  but  I  did  not  think  he  would 
have  gone  against  the  despatches  !  It  is  the  first  time  he 
ever  opposed  Versailles  !  There  must  be  something  in  the 
wind  !  A  screw  loose  somewhere,  or  another  woman  in  the 
case  !     But  hark,  he  is  going  on  again  !  " 

The  Intendant,  after  examining  some  papers,  entered 
into  a  detail  of  the  resources  of  the  Colony,  the  number  of 
men  capable  of  bearing  arms,  the  munitions  and  material  of 
war  in  tiie  magazines,  and  the  relative  strength  of  each  dis- 
trict of  the  Province.  He  mani|:)ulated  his  figures  with  the 
dexterity  of  an  Indian  juggler  throwing  balls  ;  and  at  the 
end  brought  out  a  totality  of  force  in  the  Colony  capable, 
unaided,  of  prolonging  the  war  for  two  years,  against  all 
the  powers  of  the  JMiglish. 

At  the  conclusion  of  his  speech,  ]]igot  took  his  seat. 
He  had  made  a  fa\orable  impression  ujion  the  Council  ; 
and  even  his  most  strenuous  opponents  admitted  that  on 
the  whole  the  Intendant  had  spoken  like  an  able  adminis- 
trator and  a  true  Frenchman. 

Cadet  and  Varin  supported  their  chief  warmly.     Bad 


^" 


138 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR, 


\ 


I 


as  they  were,  both  in  private  life  and  public  condurt,  they 

They  phiiulered 
for   it  ajiainst  the 


Men    whose 

'"  "fonic  ^lori- 

i  cle  iJicn- 


liicked  neither  shrewdness  nor  eoinaj»;» 
their  country- — but  wen:  ready  to  ri.:;ht 
national  eiRinv. 

( )ther  officers  followed  in  succession 
nanus  were  already  familiar,  or  destined  to 
ous  in  New  I'Vance-' — La  Corne  St.  Iaic,  Ce 
ville,  Colonel  rhiliberl,  the  ('he\alier  de  jieaujeu,  the 
I)e  \'illiers,  LeCiardeur  de  St.  ]*ierre  and  De  Lery.  One 
and  all  supported  that  view  of  the  despatches  taken  by  the 
Governor  and  the  Intendant.  All  a^^reed  upon  the  necessity 
of  completing;  the  walls  of  (Quebec,  and  of  makinj;  a  deter- 
mined stand  at  every  jjoint  of  the  frontier  against  the  threat- 
ened invasion.  In  case  of  the  sudden  |)atchin{;  up  of  a 
peace  by  the  negotiators  at  Aix  La  Chapelle — as  really 
happened — on  the  terms  of  ////  possiilctis^  it  was  of  vital 
iniportance  that  New  France  held  fast  to  every  shred  of 
her  territory,  both  Kast  and  West. 

Long  and  earnest  were  the  deliberations  of  the  Council 
of  war.  The  rejDorts  of  the  commanding  ofFi(  •-s,  from  all 
points  of  the  frontier,   were   carefully   studi  Plans  of 

present  defence  and  future  contjuesl  were  ssed  with 

reference  to  the  strength  and  weakness  of  the  Colony  ;  and 
an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  forces  and  designs  of  the 
English,  obtained  from  the  disaffected  remnant  of  Crom- 
wellian  republicans  in  New  England,  whose  hatred  to 
the  Crown  ever  outweighed  their  loyally,  and  who  kept  up 
a  traitorous  correspondence  for  purposes  of  their  own, 
with  the  Governors  of  New  France. 

The  lam]is  were  lit  and  burned  far  into  the  night,  when 
the  Council  broke  up.  The  most  part  of  the  officers  par- 
took of  a  cheerful  refreshment  with  the  Governor,  before 
they  retired  to  their  several  quarters.  Only  Bigot  and  his 
fri'Mids  declined  to  sup  with  the  Governor.  They  took  a 
polite  leave,  and  rode  away  from  the  Chateau  to  the  Palais 
of  the  Intendant,  where  a  more  gorgeous  repast,  and  more 
congenial  c(Miipany  awaited  them. 

The  wine  flowed  freely  at  the  Irtendant's  table  ;  and  as 
the  irritating  events  of  the  day  were  recalled  to  memory, 
the  pent  up  wrath  of  the  Intendant  broke  forth.  "  Damn 
the  Golden  Dog  and  his  master  both  !  "  exclaimed  he. 
"Philibert  shall  pay  with  his  life  for  the  outrage  of  to-day, 
or  I  will  lose  mine  !  The  dirt  is  not  ofi"  my  coat  yet, 
Cadet !  "  said  he,  as  he  pointed  to  a  spatter  of  mud  upon 


THE  COU,\'C/L  OF  llAR. 


139 


his  breast.  "  A  pretty  medal  that  for  the  IiiteiulaiU  to  wear 
in  a  Council  of  war  !  " 

"Conncil  of  war!"  replied  Cadet,  setting  his  jjoblet 
down  with  a  banji^  ujion  the  polished  table,  after  drainiiij^ 
it  to  the  bottom.  "  1  wotiUl  like  to  j^o  through  that  mob 
ajjjain  !  and  I  would  pull  an  oar  in  the  galleys  of  Marseilles, 
rather  than  be  questioned,  with  that  air  of  authority,  by  a 
botanizing  cpiack  like  La  (ialissoniere  !  Such  villanous 
questions  as  he  asked  me  about  the  stale  of  the  Royal 
magazines!  La  Galisst)niere  had  mo'^e  the  air  (;f  a  judge 
cross-examining  a  culprit,  than  of  a  Governor  asking  infor- 
mation of  a  king's  officer!  " 

"True,  Cadet !  "  replied  Varin,  who  was  always  a  flat- 
terer, and  who  at  last,  saved  his  ill-gotten  wealth  by  the 
surrender  of  his  wife  as  a  love-gift  to  the  J  )uc  de  Choiseul. 
"  We  all  have  our  own  injuries  to  bear,  'ihe  Intendant 
was  just  shf)wing  us  the  spot  of  dirt  cast  ujjon  him  by  the 
mob  ;  and  I  ask  what  satisfaction  he  has  asketl  in  the  Coun- 
cil for  the  insult  ?" 

"Ask  satisfaction  !  "  replied  Cadet  with  a  laugh!  "Let 
him  take  it !  Satisfaction  !  We  will  all  help  him  !  But  I 
say  that  the  hair  of  the  dog  that  bit  him  will  alone  cure 
the  bite  !  What  I  laughed  at  the  most  was,  this  morn- 
ing at  Beaumanoir,  to  see  how  coolly  that  wheljj  of  the 
Golden  Dog,  young  Philibert,  walked  off  with  l)e  Repen- 
tigny  from  the  very  midst  of  all  the  Grand  Company!" 

"We  shall  lose  our  young  neophyte,  1  doubt,  C'adet  ! 
I  was  a  fool  to  let  him  go  with  Philibert  !  "  remarked 
Bigot. 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  afraid  of  losing  him,  we  hold  him  by  a 
strong  triple  cord,  s|Hm  by  the  Devil,  l^'o  fear  of  losing 
him  ! ''  answered  Cadet,  grimiing  good  huniouredly. 

"What  do  you  mean.  Cadet.-"'  The  Inteiuhnit  took 
up  his  cup,  and  drank  \ery  nonchalantly,  as  if  he  thought 
little  of  Cadet's  view  of  the  mailer.  "  What  triple-cord 
binds  De  Repentigny  to  us?" 

"His  love  of  wine,  his  love  of  gaming,  and  his  love  of 
women  ! — or  rather  his  love  of  a  woman,  which  is  the  strong- 
est strand  in  the  string  for  a  young  fool  like  him,  who  is 
alwavs  chasing  virtue,  and  hujrging  vice  !  " 

"  Oh  !  a  woman  has  got  him  !  eh,  Cadet?  pray  who  is 
she  ?  When  once  a  woman  catches  a  fellow  by  the  gills, 
he  is  a  dead  mackerel :  his  fate  is  fixed  for  ^ood  or  bad 


it'l    ■ 
ill 

!i  r  i 


!        J 


I 
1 


140 


r//E  cm  EN'  noR. 


in  this  world.  But  who  is  she,  Cadet? — she  must  be  a 
clever  one,"  said  Bigot,  sententiousiy  ! 

"  So  she  is  !  and  she  is  too  clever  for  young  De  Repen- 
tigny  '  She  has  got  her  pretty  fingers  in  his  gills,  and  can 
carry  her  fish  to  whatever  market  she  chooses  I " 

"  Cadet !  Cadet  !  Out  with  it !  "  repeated  a  dozen  voices. 
"  Yes,  out  with  it !  "  repeated  Bigot,  '*  we  are  all  compan- 
ions unc'er  the  rose  and  there  are  no  secrets  here  about 
wine  or  women  !  " 

"  Well  I  would  not  give  a  filbert  for  all  ^he  women  born 
since  mother  Kve  !  "  said  ('adet,  flinging  a  nut-shell  at  the 
ceiling.  "  But  this  is  a  rare  one,  I  nva:;t  confess."  Now 
stop  !  Don't  cry  out  again  '  Cadet  !  out  with  it  !  '  and  I  will 
tell  you  !  what  think  you  of  the  fair,  jolly  Mademoiselle 
des  Meloir^es  ?  " 

"Ange'lique?  Is  De  Rcpentigny  in  love  with  her?" 
Bigot  looked  quite  interested  now. 

"  In  love  witli  her  ?  He  would  go  on  all  fours  after 
her,  if  she  wanted  him  !     He  does  almost  as  it  is." 

Bigot  placed  a  finger  on  his  brow,  and  pondered  for  a 
moment.  "  You  say  well,  Cadet ;  if  De  Repentigny  has 
fallen  in  love  with  that  girl,  he  is  ours  for  ever !  Angelique 
des  Meloises  never  lets  go  her  ox  until  she  ofl^ers  him  up 
as  a  burnt  offering  !  The  Honiu'tcs  ^cns  will  lose  one  of 
the  best  trouts  in  their  stream,  if  Angelique  has  the  tick- 
ling of  him  !  " 

Bigot  did  not  seem  to  be  quite  pleased  with  Cadet's  in- 
formation. He  rose  from  his  seat  somewhat  flushed,  and 
excited  by  this  talk  respecting  Angelique  des  Meloises. 
He  walked  up  and  down  the  room  a  few  turns,  recovered 
his  composure,  and  sat  down  again. 

"  Come,  gentlemen,"  said  he  ;  "  too  much  care  will 
kill  a  cat !  Let  us  change  our  talk  to  a  merrier  tune  ;  fill  up, 
and  we  will  drink  to  the  loves  of  De  Repentigny,  and  the 
fair  Angelique!  1  am  much  mistaken  if  we  do  not  find  in 
her  the  Dca  ex  Machind^  to  help  us  out  of  our  trouble  with 
the  honiu'tes  gens  !  " 

The  glasses  were  filled  and  emptied.  Cards  and  dice 
were  then  called  for.  The  company  drew  their  chairs  into 
a  closer  circle  round  the  table  ;  deep  play,  and  deeper 
drinking  set  in.  The  Palais  resounded  with  revelry,  until 
the  morning  sun  looked  into  the  gieal  window,  blushing 
red  at  the  scene  of  drunken  riot,  that  had  become  habitual 
in  the  Palace  of  the  Intendant. 


THR  CHARMING  JOSEPHINE, 


t\X 


CHAPTER  XV. 


THE    CHARMING   JOSEPHINE. 


The  few  words  of  SN'mpathy  dropped  by  Biojot  in  the 
Secret  Chamber,  had  fallen  like  manna  on  the  famine  of 
Caroline's  starving  affections,  as  she  remained  on  the  sofa 
where  she  had  half-fallen,  pressing  her  bosom  with  her 
hands,  as  if  a  new-born  thought  lay  there.  "  I  am  sure  he 
meant  it !  "  repeated  she  to  herself.  "  I  feel  that  his  words 
were  true,  and  for  the  moment  his  look  and  tone  were 
those  of  my  happy  maiden  days,  in  Acadia!  I  was  too 
proud  then  of  my  fancied  power,  and  thought  Bigot's  love 
deserved  the  surrender  of  my  very  conscience  to  his  keep- 
ing. I  forgot  God  in  my  love  for  him  ;  and,  alas  for  me  ! 
that  now  is  part  of  my  punishment !  I  feel  not  the  sin  of 
loving  him  !  My  penitence  is  not  sincere,  when  I  can  still 
rejoice  in  his  smile  !  Woe  is  me  !  Bigot !  Bigot !  unworthy 
as  thou  art,  I  cnnnot  forsake  thee  !  I  would  willingly  die 
at  thy  feet,  only  spurn  me  not  away,  nor  give  to  another  the 
love  that  belongs  to  me,  and  for  which  1  have  paid  the 
price  of  my  immortal  soul !  " 

She  relapsed  into  a  train  of  bitter  reflections,  as  her 
thoughts  reverted  to  herself.  Silence  had  been  gradually 
creeping  through  the  house.  The  noisy  debauch  was  at  an 
end.  There  were  tram])ings,  voices,  and  foot-falls,  for  a 
while  longer,  and  then  tliey  died  away.  P^verything  was 
still,  and  silent  as  the  grave.  She  knew  the  feast  wa-j 
over,  and  the  guests  departed  ;  but  not  whether  Bigot  had 
accompanied  them. 

She  sprang  up  as  a  low  knock  came  to  her  door,  think- 
ing it  was  he,  come  to  bid  her  adieu.  It  was  with  a  feeling 
of  disappointment,  she  heard  the  voice  of  Dame  Tremblay 
"My  Lady,  may  I  enter?" 

Caroline  ran  her  fingers  through  her  disordered  hair, 
pressed  her  handkerchief  into  her  eyes,  and  hastily  tried  to 
obliterate  every  trace  of  her  recent  agony.  .  She  bade  her 
enter. 

Dame  Tremblay,  shrewd  as  became  the  whilome 
Charming  Joseph' le  of  Lake  Beauport,  had  a  kind  heart. 


saym^ 


]   ' 


i   t 


142 


T//E  CHI  END' OR. 


nevertheless,  under  her  old  fashioned  bodice.  She  sin- 
cerely pitied  this  youni^  creature,  who  was  jjassing  her  days 
in  piayer,  and  her  nij^hts  in  weepiniif,  altliou<;h  she  might 
rather  blame  her  in  secret,  for  not  appreciating  better  the 
honor  of  a  residence  at  Beaumanoir  ^"'nd  the  friendship  of 
the  Intendant, 

"  I  do  not  think  she  is  prettier  than  T,  when  I  was  the 
Charming  Josephine  !  "  thought  the  old  Dame.  *'I  did  not 
despise  Beauiuanoir  in  those  days,  and  why  should  she 
now?  ])Ut  she  will  be  neither  maid  nor  mistress  here  long, 
I  am  thinking  !  "  The  Dame  saluted  the  young  lady  with 
great  deference,  and  quietly  asked  if  she  needed  her  ser- 
vice. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  you.  good  Dame" — Caroline  answered  her 
own  thoughts,  rather  than  the  question.  "  Tell  me  what 
makes  this  unusual  silence  in  the  Chateau  .-•" 

"The  Intendant  and  all  the  guests  have  gone  to  the 
city,  my  Lady.  A  great  officer  of  the  (Governor's  came 
to  summon  them.  To  be  ^^ure,  not  many  of  them  were  fit  to 
go,  but  after  a  deal  of  bathing  and  dressing,  the  gentle- 
men gotofT.  Such  a  clatter  of  horsemen,  as  they  rode  out, 
I  never  heard  before,  my  Lady  ;  you  must  have  heard  tl.  m 
even  here  !  " 

"  Yes,  Dame !  "  replied  Caroline,  "  I  heard  it  ;  and  the 
Intendant,  has  he  accompanied  them  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  Lady  ;  the  freshest  and  foremost  cavalier  of 
them  all.  Wine  and  late  hours  never  hurt  the  Intendant. 
It  is  for  that  I  praise  him,  for  he  is  a  gallant  gentleman, 
who  knows  what  politeness  is  to  women." 

Caroline  shrank  a  little  at  the  thought  expressed  by  the 
Dame.     "What  causes  you  to  say  that?"  asked  she. 

''  1  will  tell,  my  Lady  !  '  Uame  Tremblay  !  '  said  he,  just 
before  he  left  the  Chateau.  'Dame  'i'remblay.'  He  a!- 
wavs  calls  me  that  when  he  's  foinial,  but  sometimes  when 
he  is  merry,  he  calls  me  'Charming  Josephine,'  in  remem- 
brance of  my  young  days  ;  concerning  which  he  has  heard 
flattering  stories,  I  daresay  — " 

"  In  heaven's  name  !  go  on.  Dame  !  "  Caroline,  depress- 
ed as  she  was,  felt  the  Dame's  garrulity  like  a  pinch  on 
her  impatience.  "What  said  the  Intendant  to  you,  on 
leaving  the  Chateau  ?  " 

"Oh,  he  spoke  to  me    of  you  quite  feelingly:  that-4sf 
bade  me  take  the  utmost  care  of  the  poor  lady  in  the  se- 


Tim  CHARMIXG  yosEPi/nvE. 


143 


cret  chamber.  I  was  to  give  you  everything  you  wished, 
and  keep  off  nil  visitors,  if  such  were  your  own  desire." 

A  train  of  powder  does  not  catch  fire  from  a  spark 
more  quickly  than  Caroline's  imagination  from  these  few 
words  of  die  old  housekeeper.  "  Did  he  say  that,  good 
Dame?  God  bless  you,  and  bless  him  for  those  words!" 
Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  at  the  thought  of  his  tenderness, 
which,  although  half  fictitious,  she  wliolly  believed. 

*'  Yes,  Dame  !  "  continued  she.  "  It  is  my  most  earnest 
desire  to  be  secluded  from  all  visitors.  I  wish  to  see  no 
one,  but  yourself.  Have  you  many  visitors,  ladies  I  mean, 
at  the  Chateau  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes  ;  the  ladies  of  the  city  are  not  likely  to  forget 
the  invitations  to  the  balls  and  dinners  of  the  bachelor 
Intendant  of  New  France.  It  is  the  most  fashionable 
thing  in  the  citv,  and  everv  ladv  is  wild  to  attend  them. 
There  is  one,  the  handsomest  and  gayest  of  them  all,  who 
they  say,  would  not  object  even  to  become  the  bride  of  the 
Intendant." 

It  was  a  careless  shaft  of  the  old  Dame's,  but  it  went 
to  the  heart  of  Caroline.  "  Who  is  she,  good  Dame  ? — pray 
tell  me !  " 

"  Oh,  my  Lady,  I  should  fear  her  anger,  if  she  knew  what 
I  say.  She  is  the  most  terrible  coquette  in  the  city.  Wor- 
shipped by  the  men,  atid  hated  of  course,  by  the  women, 
who  all  imitate  her  in  dress  and  style,  as  much  as  they  pos- 
sibly can.  because  they  see  it  takes  !  But  every  woman 
fears  for  either  husband  or  lover,  when  Angelique  des  Me- 
loises  is  her  rival." 

"  Is  that  her  name  "i  I  never  heard  it  before.  Dame  !  " 
remarked  Caroline,  with  a  shudder.  She  felt  instinctively 
that  the  name  was  one  of  direful  omen  to  herself. 

*'  Pray  God  you  may  never  have  reason  to  hear  it  again," 
replied  Dame  Tremblay.  "vShe  it  was  who  went  to  the 
mansion  of  the  Sieur  Tourangeau,  and  with  her  riding  whip 
lashed  the  mark  of  a  red  cross  upon  the  forehead  of  his 
daughter,  Cecile,  scarring  her  forever;  because  she  had 
presumed' to  smile  kindly  up')n  a  young  officer,  a  handsome 
fellow,  Le  (iardeur  de  Repentigny,  whom  any  woman 
might  be  pardoned  for  admiring  ! "  added  the  old  Dame, 
with  a  natural  touch  of  the  candor  of  her  youth.  "If  An- 
gelique takes  a  fancy  to  the  Intendant,  it  will  be  danger- 
ous for  any  other  woman  to  stand  in  her  way  I  " 


r  -  ■ 

\ 

?f       ■ 
,  .i:     i 

■' 

i 

...A. 


144 


TJ/E  CHIEN  nOR. 


Caroline  gave  a  frightened  look,  at  the  Dame's  descrip- 
tion of  a  possible  rival  in  the  Intcndant's  love.  "You 
know  more  of  her,  Dame  !  Tell  me  all !  Tell  me  the  worst 
I  have  to  learn  ! "  pleaded  the  poor  girl. 

"  The  worst,  my  Lady  !  I  fear  no  one  can  tell  the  worst 
of  Angelique  des  Meloises ;  at  least  would  not  dare  to. 
Although  1  know  nothing  bad  of  her,  except  that  she  would 
like  to  have  all  the  men  to  herself,  and  so  spite  all  the  wo- 
men I  " 

*'  But  she  must  regard  that  young  officer,  with  more  than 
common  affection,  to  have  acted  so  savagely  to  Mademoi- 
selle Tourangeau  ?"  Caroline,  with  a  woman's  quickness, 
had  caught  at  that  gleam  of  hope  through  the  darkness. 

"O  yes,  my  Lady.  All  ()uebec  knows  that  Angelique 
loves  the  Seigneur  de  Repentigny,  for  nothing  is  a  secret 
in  Quebec,  if  more  than  one  person  knows  it,  as  I  myself 
well  recollect;  for  when  I  was  the  Charming  Josephine,  my 
very  whispers  were  all  over  the  city  by  the  next  dinner  hour  ; 
and  repeated  at  every  table,  as  gentlemen  cracked  their 
almonds,  and  drank  their  wine  in  toasts  to  the  Charming 
Josephine." 

"  Pshaw  !  Dame  !  Tell  me  about  the  Seigneur  de  Re- 
pentigny !  Does  Ange'lique  des  Meloises  love  him,  think 
you?"  Caroline's  eyes  were  fixed  like  stars  upon  the 
Dame,  awaiting  her  reply. 

"  It  takes  women  to  read  women,  they  say,"  replied  the 
Dame,  "  and  every  lady  in  Quebec  would  swear  that  Ange- 
lique loves  the  Seigneur  de  Repentigny  ;  but  I  know  that 
if  she  can,  she  will  marry  the  Intendant,  whom  she  has 
fairly  bewitched  with  her  wit  and  beauty,  and  you  know  a 
clever  woman  can  marry  any  man  she  pleases,  if  she  only 
goes  the  right  way  about  it ;  men  are  such  fools !  " 

Caroline  grew  faint.  Cold  drops  gathered  on  her  brow. 
A  ve'l  of  mist  floated  before  her  eyes.  *' Water!  good 
Dame  !  water  !  "  she  articulated,  after  several  efforts. 

Dame  Tremblay  ran  and  got  her  a  drink  of  water,  and 
such  restoratives  as  were  at  hand.  The  Dame  was  profuse 
in  words  of  sympathy.  She  had  gone  through  life  with  a 
light,  lively  spirit,  as  became  the  Charming  Josephine,  but 
never  lost  the  kindly  heart  that  was  natural  to  her. 

Caroline  rallied  from  her  faintness.  "  Have  you  seen 
what  you  tell  me  Dame.-*  or  is  it  but  the  idle  gossip  of  the 
city,  no  truth  in  it  ?     Oh,  say  it  is  the  idle  gossip  of  the 


THE  CHARMING  JOSEPHINE. 


H5 


City!  Francois  Bigot  is  not  going  to  marry  this  lady  !  He 
is  not  so  faithless — to  nie,"  she  was  about  to  add,  but  did 
not. 

"So  faithless  to  her,  she  means,  poor  soul!"  solilo- 
quized the  Dame.  "It  is  but  little  you  know  my  gay  mas- 
ter, if  you  think  he  values  a  promise  made  to  any  woman, 
except  to  deceive  her  I  I  have  seen  too  many  birds  of  that 
feather,  not  to  know  a  hawk  from  beak  to  claw.  When  I 
was  the  Charming  Josephine,  I  took  the  measure  of  men's 
professions,  and  never  was  deceived  but  once.  Men's 
promises  are  big  as  clouds,  and  as  empty  and  as  unsta- 
ble!  " 

"My  good  Dame,  I  am  sure  }ou  have  a  kind  heart," 
said  Caroline  in  reply  to  a  sympathizing  pressure  of  the 
hand.  "  Ikit  you  do  not  know,  you  cannot  imagine  what 
injustice  you  do  the  Intendant  !  " — Caroline  hesitated  and 
blushed,  "  by  mentioning  the  report  of  his  marriage  with 
that  lady.    Men  speak  untruly  of  him — " 

"  My  dear  Lady.  It  is  what  the  women  say,  that 
fri«htens  one.  The  men  are  anirrv,  and  wont  believe  it, 
but  the  women  are  jealous,  and  will  believe  it  even  if 
there  be  nothing  in  it  !  As  a  faithful  servant,  I  ought  to  have 
no  eyes  to  watch  my  master,  but  I  Ijuve  ni)t  failed  to  ob- 
serve that  the  Chevalier  Bigot  is  caught  man  fashion,  if 
not  husband-fashion,  in  the  snares  of  the  artfu!  Angelique. 
But  may  I  speak  my  real  opinion  to  you,  my  Lady?  " 

Caroline  was  eagerly  watchitig  the  lips  of  the  garrulous 
dame.  She  started,  brushed  back  with  a  stroke  of  her 
hand  the  thick  hair  that  had  fallen  over  her  ear:  "Oh, 
speak  all  your  thoughts,  good  Dame  !  If  your  next  words 
were  to  kill  me — speak  them  !  " 

"  My  next  words  will  not  harm  you,  my  Lady  !  "  said  she, 
with  a  meaning  smile.  "  If  you  will  accept  the  opinion  of 
an  old  woman,  who  learned  the  ways  of  men,  when  she 
was  the  Charming  Josephine  !  You  must  not  conclude 
that  because  the  Chevalier  Intendant  admires,  or  even 
loves  Ange'lique  des  Meloises,  he  is  going  to  marry  her. 
That  is  not  the  fashion  of  these  times.  Men  love  beauty 
and  marry  money.  Love  is  more  plenty  than  matrimon\, 
both  at  Paris  and  at  Quebec,  at  Versailles  as  well  as  at 
Beaumanoir,  or  even  at  Lake  Beauport.  as  I  learned  to  my 
cost,  when  I  was  the  Charming  Josephine  !  " 

Caroline  blushed   crimson,    at   the   remark   of    Dame 

lO 


1 


146 


THE  C in  END' OR. 


;i|- 


< 

1 

{ 

1 

1 

1 

-J 

Tremblay.  Her  voice  quivered  with  emotion  :  "  It  is  sin 
to  cheapen  love  Hke  that,  Dame  !  and  yet  I  know  we  have 
sometimes  to  bury  our  love  in  our  heart,  with  no  hope  of 
resurrection." 

"Sometimes?  almost  always,  my  Lady  !  When  I  was 
the  Charmin2^  Josephine — nay,  listen,  lady — my  story  is  in- 
structive." Caroline  composed  herself  to  hear  the  dame's 
recital.  "When  I  was  the  Charming  Josephine  of  Lake 
Beauport,  I  be_<;an  by  believing  that  men  were  angels,  sent 
for  the  salvation  of  us  women.  I  thought  that  love  was  a 
better  passport  than  money  to  lead  to  matrimony ;  but  I 
was  a  fool  for  my  fancy  !  I  had  a  good  score  of  lovers 
any  day.  'i'he  gallants  praised  my  beauty,  and  it  was  the 
envy  of  the  city  ;  they  Hattered  me  for  my  wit,  nay,  even 
fought  duels  for  my  favor,  and  called  me  the  Charming 
Josephine  ! — but  not  one  offered  to  marry  me  1  At  twenty, 
I  ran  away  for  love,  and  was  forsaken.  At  thirty,  I  married 
for  money,  and  was  rid  of  all  n^y  illusions.  At  forty,  I 
came  as  house-keei>er  to  ]k;aumanoir,  and  have  lived  here 
comfortably  ever  since.  I  know  what  Royal  Intendants 
are  !  Old  Hocquart  wore  night-caps  in  the  day  time,  took 
snuff  every  minute,  and  jilted  a  lady  in  France,  because  she 
had  not  the  dower  of  a  duchesse  to  match  his  hoards  of 
wealth!  The  Chevalier  Bigot's  black  eye  and  jolly  laugh 
draw  after  him  all  the  girls  of  the  city,  but  not  one  will 
catch  him  !  Angelique  des  Meloises  is  first  in  his  favor, 
but  I  sec  it  is  as  clear  as  print  in  the  eye  of  the  Intendant, 
that  he  will  never  marry  her — and  you  will  prevent  him,  Uiy 
Lady!" 

'"Ill  prevent  him  !  "  exclaimed  Caroline  in  amazement. 
"Alas!  good  Dame,  vou  little  know  how  lighter  than  thiotie 
down  floating  on  the  wind,  is  my  intluence  with  the  Inte.id- 
ant." 

"  You  do  yourself  injustice,  my  Lady.  Listen  !  I  never 
saw  a  more  pitying  glance  fall  from  the  eye  of  man,  than 
the  Intendant  cast  upon  you,  one  day,  when  he  saw  you 
kneeling  in  your  oratory,  unconscious  of  his  presence. 
His  lips  quivered,  and  a  tear  gathered  under  his  thick  eye- 
lashes, as  he  silently  withdrew.  1  heard  him  mutter  a 
blessing  upon  you,  and  curses  upon  La  Pompadour,  for 
coming  between  him  and  his  heart's  desire.  I  was  a  faith- 
ful servant,  and  kept  my  counsel.  I  could  see,  however, 
that   the   Intendant  thought  more  of   the  lovely  lady  of 


THE  CHARMING  JOSEPHINE. 


147 


i3caumanoir,   than  of    all   the    ambitious    demoiselles    of 
Quebec." 

Caroline  sprang  up,  and  casting  off  the  deep  reserve 
she  had  maintained,  threw  her  arms  round  the  neck  of 
Dame  Tremblay,  and  half  choked  witii  euiotion,  exclaimed  : 

"  Js  that  true?  good,  dear  friend  of  friends  !  Did  the 
Chevalier  Bigot  bless  me,  and  curse  La  Pompadour  for 
coming  between  him  and  his  heart's  desire  ?  His  heart's 
desire  !  but  you  do  not  know — you  cannot  guess,  what  that 
means.  Dame  ? " 

"  As  if  I  did  not  know  a  man's  heart's  desire  !  but  I  am 
a  woman,  and  can  guess  !  I  was  not  the  Charming  Jose- 
phine, for  nothing,  good  lady  !  "  replied  the  Dame,  smiling, 
as  the  enraptured  girl  laid  her  fair,  smooth  cheek  upon 
that  of  the  old  house-keeper. 

"  And  did  he  look  so  pityingly  as  you  describe,  and 
bless  me  as  I  was  praying,  unwitting  of  his  presence?" 
repeated  she,  with  a  look  that  searched  the  Dame 
through  and  t'nrough. 

"  He  did,  my  Lady  ;  he  looked,  just  then,  as  a  man  looks 
upon  a  woman  whom  he  really  loves.  I  know  how  men 
look  when  they  really  love  us,  and  when  they  only  pretend 
to  !  No  deceiving  me  !  "  added  she.  "  When  I  was  the 
Charming  Josephine — " 

^^ Are  Maria.'"  said  Caroline,  crossing  herself,  with 
deep  devotion,  not  heeding  the  Dame's  reminiscences  of 
Lake  3-?eauport — "  Heaven  has  heard  my  prayers  ;  I  can 
die  happy !  " 

"  Heaven  forbid  you  should  die  at  all,  my  lady  !  You, 
die  I  The  Intendant  loves  you.  I  see  it  in  his  face,  that 
he  will  never  marry  Angelique  des  Meloises.  He  may 
indeed,  marry  a  great  JVLirchioncss.  with  her  lap  full  of 
gold  and  chateaux — that  is,  if  the  King  commands  him. 
That  is  how  the  grand  gentlemen  of  the  Court  marry.  They 
wed  rank,  and  love  beauty.  The  heart  to  one,  the  hand  to 
another.  It  would  be  my  way,  too,  were  I  a  man,  and 
women  so  simple  as  we  all  are.  If  a  girl  cannot  marry 
for  love,  she  will  marry  for  money  ;  and  if  not  for  money, 
she  can  always  marry  for  spite. — I  did,  when  I  was  the 
Charming  Josephine  !  " 

"  It  is  a  shocking  and  a  sinful  way,  to  marry  without 
love  1  "  said  Caroline  warmly. 

"  It  is  better  than  no  way  at  all  1 "  replied  the  Dame, 


■ 

[  ■ 

s 
i 

\ 

•  . 

1 

1 

1 ; 

1 

^        !i 

i 

■   -™i 

148  T//E  CIIIExYD'OR. 

regrcttin<:f  her  remark  when  she  saw  her  lady's  face  flush 
like  crimson.  'J"lu;  Danu-'s  opinions  were  rather  the  worse 
for  wear,  in  her  Ion;;  journey  lhr(jii^h  life,  and  would  not 
be  adopted  by  a  jury  of  ])rudes.  "  When  i  was  the  Cliarm- 
ing  Josepliine,"  continued  she,  "I  h:id  the  love  of  half  the 
gallants  of  Quebec,  but  not  one  offered  his  hand.  What 
was  I  to  do?  'Crook  a  finder,  or  love  and  linj^cr,'  as  they 
say  in  Alen^on,  where  I  was  born  ? " 

"  Fie,  Dame  !  Don't  say  such  thinjjjs  !  "  said  Caroline, 
with  a  shamed,  renr-.M-in^  look.  "  I  would  think  better  of 
the  Inlendant."  Her  ^c;ratitude  led  her  to  imagine  ex- 
cuses for  him.  The  few  words  re])orted  to  her  by  Dame 
Tremblay,  she  repeated  with  silently  mo\in^  lij)s  and  tender 
reiteration.  They  lingered  in  her  ear  like  the  fugue  of  a 
strain  of  music,  sung  by  a  choir  of  angelic  si)irits.  "Those 
were  his  very  words.  Dame  ?  "  added  she  again,  "repeating 
them — not  for  inquiry,  but  for  secret  joy. 

"  His  very  words,  my  Lady  !  Ikit  why  should  the  Royal 
Intendant  not  have  his  heart's  desire,  as  well  as  that  great 
lady  in  France  ?  If  any  one  had  forbidden  my  marrying 
the  poor  Sieur  Tremblay,  for  whom  1  did  not  care  two 
pins,  I  would  have  had  him  for  spite — yes,  if  I  had  had  to 
marry  him  as  the  crows  do,  on  a  tree-top  !  " 

"  Ikit  no  one  bade  you  or  forbade  you,  Dame  !  You 
were  happy,  that  no  one  came  between  you  and  your  heart's 
desire!"  replied  Caroline. 

Dame  Tremblay  laugiied  out  merrily  at  the  idea, — 
"Poor  Giles  Tremblay,  my  heart's  desire  !  Listen,  Lady,  I 
could  no  more  get  that  than  you  couid.  When  I  was  the 
Charming  Josephine,  there  was  hut  one,  out  of  all  my  ad- 
mirers, whom  1  really  cared  for,  and  he,  j)Oor  fellow,  had  a 
wife  already  !  So  what  was  I  to  do  ?  I  threw  my  line  at 
last  in  utter  desj^air,  and  out  of  the  troubled  sea,  I  drew 
the  Sieur  Tremblay,  whom  I  married,  and  soon  put  cosily 
underground,  with  a  heavy  tombstone  on  top  of  him  to 
keep  him  down,  with  this  inscription,  which  you  may  see 
for  yourself,  my  Lady,  if  you  will,  in  the  churchyard  where 
he  lies. 

*  Ci  git  men  Giles, 
Ah  !  qu'il  est  bien, 
Pour  son  r.  pes, 
Et  pour  le  mien ! ' 


THE  C//ARM/XG  JOSE  PI II XE 


149 


:ice  flush 
lie  worse 
f)iilcl  not 
-  C'lianii- 

half  the 
.     V\'Iiat 

as  they 


'aroh'ne, 
better  of 
^iiie  ex- 
))■  Dame 
tl  tender 
,iie   of  a 

"Those 
-peatmg 

e  Royal 
at  great 
carrying 
are  two 
1  had  to 

!     You 
r  heart's 

idea, — . 
Lady,  I 
vas  the 
ni}-  ad- 
',  had  a 
line  at 
I  drew 
:  cosily 
him  to 
iay  see 
\  where 


"  Men  are  like  my  Angola  Tabby.  Stroke  them  smoothly 
and  they  will  purr  and  rub  noses  with  you  ;  but  stroke  them 
the  wrong  way,  and  whirr  !  they  scratch  your  hands  and 
out  of  the  window  they  lly  !     When  I  was  the  Charming — " 

"O,  good  Dame,  thanks!  thanks!  for  the  comfort  you 
have  given  me  !  "  interrupted  Caroline,  not  caring  for  a 
fresh  reminiscence  of  the  Charming  Josephine.  "Leave 
me,  I  pray — my  mind  is  in  a  sad  tumult,  I  would  fain 
rest — I  have  much  to  fear,  but  something  also  to  hope  for 
now,"  she  said,  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  in  deep  and 
quiet  thought. 

"The  ChAteau  is  very  still  now,  my  Lady,"  replied  the 
Dame,  "The  servants  are  all  worn  out  with  long  attend- 
ance, and  fast  asleep.  Let  my  Lady  go  to  her  own  apart- 
ments, which  are  bright  and  airy.  It  will  be  better  for 
her  than  this  dull  chamber." 

"True,  Dame  !  "  Caroline  rose  at  the  suggestion.  "I 
like  not  this  secret  chamber.  It  suited  my  sad  mood, 
but  now  I  seem  to  long  for  air  and  sunshine.  I  will  go 
with  you  to  my  own  room." 

Thev  ascended  the  windinii  stair,  and  Caroline  seated 
herself  bv  the  window  of  her  own  chainl)er,  overlooking!  the 
park  and  gardens  of  the  Chateau.  The  huge  sloping  forests 
upon  the  mountain  side,  formed,  in  the  (listance,  with  the 
blue  sky  above  it,  a  landscape  of  beauty,  upon  which  her 
eyes  lingered  wilh  a  sense  of  freshness  and  delight. 

Dame  Tremblay  left  her  to  her  musings,  to  go,  she  said, 
to  rouse  up  the  lazy  maids  and  menservants,  to  straighten 
up  the  confusion  of  everything  in  the  Chateau  after  the 
late  long  feast. 

On  the  great  stair,  she  encountered  Mons,  Froumois, 
the  Intendants  valet,  a  favorite  gossip  of  the  Dame's,  who 
used  to  invite  him  into  her  snug  parlor,  where  she  regaled 
him  with  tea  and  cake,  or,  if  late  in  the  evening,  with  wine 
and  nipjjerkins  of  Cognac,  while  he  poured  into  her  ear 
stories  of  the  gay  life  of  Paris,  and  the  honncs  foriunes  of 
himself  and  master — for  the  valet  in  plush,  woukl  have 
disdained  beinij  less  successful  amonir  the  maids  in  the 
servants'  hall,  than  his  master  in  velvet,  in  the  boudoirs  of 
their  mistresses. 

Mons.  Froumois  accepted  the  Dame's  invitation,  and 
the  two  were  presently  engaged  in  a  melee  of  gossip  over 
the  savings  and  doings  of  fashionable  society  iui  Quebec, 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


pj 


Hi  II I 


N^ 


'        1 


J      : 


fi 


/The  Dame,  holding  between  her  thumb  and  finger  a 
.ctle  china  cup  of  tea,  well  laced,  she  called  it,  with  Cognac, 
remarkeil :  '*  They  fairly  run  the  Intendant  down,  l-'rounioisl 
There  is  not  a  girl  in  the  cilv  but  laces  her  boots  to  dis- 
traction  since  it  came  out  that  the  Intendant  admires  a 
neat,  trim  ankle.  1  had  a  trim  ankle  myself  when  I  was 
the  Charming  Josephine,  Mons.  Froumois  !  " 

"And  you  have  yet,  Dame, — If  J  am  a  judge" — re- 
plied Froumois,  glancing  down  with  an  air  of  gallantry. 

*'  And  you  are  accounted  a  judge — and  ought  to  be  a 
good  (jne,  Froumois!  A  gentleman  can't  live  at  court  as 
you  ha\e  done,  and  learn  nothing  of  the  jioints  of  a  fine 
woman  !  "  The  good  Dame  liked  a  compliment  as  well  as 
ever  she  had  done  at  Lake  lieauport  in  her  hey-day  of 
youth  and  beauty. 

"  Why,  no.  Dame,"  replied  he  ;  "  one  can't  live  at  court 
and  learn  nothing!  We  study  the  points  of  fine  women  as 
we  do  fine  statuary  in  the  gallery  of  the  Louvre.  Only  the 
living  beauties  will  compel  us  to  see  their  best  points,  if 
they  have  them."  Mons.  Froumois  looked  very  critical,  as 
he  took  a  |)inch  from  the  Dame's  box,  which  she  held  out 
to  him.  Her  hand  and  wrist  were  yet  unexceptionable,  as 
he  could  not  help  remarking. 

'•  But  what  think  you,  really,  of  our  Quebec  beauties  ? 
Are  they  not  a  good  imitation  of  Versailles?"  asked  the 
Dame. 

"  A  good  imitation  !  They  are  the  real  porcelain  !  For 
beautv  and  alTabilitv,  Versailles  cannot  exceed  them.  So 
says  the  Intendant,  and  so  say  I,"  replied  the  gay  valet. 
"  Why,  look  you,  Dame  Tremblay,"  continued  he,  extend 


ing  nis  well-nngecl  lingers.      "They  do  give   gentlemen  no 


end  of  hopes  here  !  We  have  otdy  to  stretch  out  our  ten 
digits  and  a  lady  bird  will  light  on  every  one  of  them  !  It 
was  so  at  Versailles — it  is  just  so  here.  The  ladies  in 
Quebec  do  know  how  to  apjireciate  a  real  gentleman  !  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  makes  the  ladies  of  Ville  Marie  so 
jealous  and  angry,"  replied  the  Dame  ;  "  the  King's  officers 
and  all  the  great  catches  land  at  Quebec  first,  when  they 
come  out  from  France  ;  and  we  take  toll  of  them  !  We 
don't  let  a  gentleman  of  them  get  uj)  to  Ville  ALirie  with- 
out a  Quebec  engagement  tacked  to  his  back,  so  that  all 
Ville  Marie  can  read  it,  and  die  of  pure  spite !  I  say  we, 
Froumois  ;  but  you  understand  I  speak  of  myself  only  as 


-41 


THE  CHARMING  JOSEPHINE. 


151 


finn^er  a 

•oiimoisi 
s  to  dis- 
Iniires  a 
.'II  I  was 


:e  "—re- 
in try. 
to  be  a 
:oiirt  as 
)f  a  fine 
well  as 
-day  of 

fit  court 
)nien  as 


)nlythe 
)ints,  if 
ical,  as 
L'ld  out 
ble,  as 

uities  ? 
-'d   the 

!  For 
.  So 
valet, 
'ctcnd- 
en  no 
ir  ten 

!  It 
es  in 
!  " 

'ie  so 
fleers 

they 

We 
with- 
it  all 
'  we, 
y  as 


the  Charminfj Josephine  of  Lake  IJcauport.     T  must  con- 
tent niysL'It"  now  with  tellini:^  over  my  past  glories." 

"Well,  Dame,  1  don't  know.  J>ul  von  are  "[lorious  vet  ! 
But  tell  nie,what  has  j^ot  over  my  master  to-day  1  Was  the  un- 
known lady  unkind  .-'  Somethin;^;  has  aui^ercd  him,l  am  sure  !" 

*' I  cannot  tell  ycni,  Froumnis  !  Women's  moods  are  not 
to  be  explained,  c\'en  by  themselves."  The  Dame  had 
been  sensibly  touched  by  Caroline's  confidence  in  her,  and 
she  was  too  loyal  to  her  sex  to  repeat  e\  en  to  Froumois 
her  recent  conversation  with  Caroline. 

They  found  plenty  of  other  toj^ics,  howe\'er,  and  over 
the  tea  and  Co;;nac,  the  Dame  and  valet  passed  an  hour 
of  deli<j;htful  <;ossip. 

Caroline,  left  to  the  solitude  of  her  chamber,  sat  silent- 
ly with  her  hands  clasped  in  her  laj).  Her  thoughts  pressetl 
inward  upon  her.  She  looked  out  without  seeing  the  fair 
landscape  before  her  eyes. 

Tears  and  sorrow  she  had  welcomed  in  a  spirit  of  bit- 
ter penitence  for  her  fault  in  loving  one  who  no  longer  re- 
garded her.  "I  do  not  deserve  any  man's  regard,"  mur- 
mured she,  as  she  laid  her  soul  on  the  rack  of  self-accusa-" 
ti  1,  and  wrung  its  tenderest  fibres  with  the  ])iiiless  rigor 
ol  a  secret  inquisitor.  S!ie  utterly  condemned  herself, 
while  still  tr\ing  to  find  some  excuse  for  her  unworthy  lov- 
er. At  times  a  cold  half  persuasion  fluttering  like  a  bird 
in  the  snow,  came  over  her,  thai  liigotcoukl  not  be  utterly 
base.  He  could  not  thus  forsake  one  who  had  lost  all — 
name,  fame,  home  and  kindred  for  his  sake  !  She  clung 
to  the  few  pitying  words  sj)oken  by  him  as  a  shiinvrecked 
sailor  to  the  plank  which  chance  has  thrown  in  his  way. 
It  might  fioat  her  for  a  few  hours,  and  she  was  grateful. 

•Immersed  in  these  reflections,  Carolinesat  gazing  at  the 
clouds,  now  transformed  into  royal  robesof  crimson  and  gold 
— the  gorgeous  train  of  the  sun  filled  the  western  hori/on. 
She  raised  her  pale  hands  to  her  head,  lifting  the  mass  of 
dark  hair  from  her  temples.  The  fevered  blood  madly  cours- 
ing, pulsed  in  her  ear  like  the  stroke  of  a  bell. 

She  remembered  a  sunset  like  this  on  the  shores  of 
the  Bay  of  Minas,  where  the  thrush  and  oriole  twittered 
their  even-song  before  seeking  their  nests,  where  the  foliage 
of  the  trees  was  all  ablaze  with  golden  fire,  and  a  shimmer- 
ing path  of  sunlight  lay  \\\)ow  the  still  waters  like  a  glorious 
bridge  leading  from  themsehes  to  the  bright  beyond. 


1 


»52 


77/A  c////:x  /yon. 


! : 


I-  --■ 


On  that  woll  remembered  ni^ht,  her  heart  had  yielded 
to  Hi^Dl's  pleadings.  She  had  leaned  her  head  upon  his 
bosom,  and  reeeived  the  kiss  and  gave  the  pledge  that 
bound  her  to  him  for  ever. 

'I'hc  sun  ke|)t  sinking — the  forests  on  the  mountain  tops 
burst  into  a  bonliie  of  glory.  Sliadows  went  creeping  up 
the  hill  sides,  until  the  liighest  crest  alone  liamed  out  as  a 
beacon  of  hope  to  her  troubled  soul. 

Suddenly  like  a  voice  from  the  spirit  world,  the  faint 
chime  of  the  bells  of  ('harlebr)urg  floated  on  the  evening 
bree/e.  It  was  the  Angelus,  calling  men  to  prayer,  and 
rest  from  their  daily  labor.  Sweetly  the  soft  reverberation 
floated  through  the  forests,  up  the  hill  sides,  by  plain  and 
river,  enti'ring  the  f)pen  lattices  of  Chateau  and  cottage 
summoning  rich  and  poor  alike  to  their  duty  of  prayer  and 
praise.  It  reminded  men  of  the  redemption  of  the  world 
by  the  divine  miracle  of  the  incarnation,  announced  by 
Gabriel  the  angel  of  (lod,  to  the  ear  of  Mary  blessed 
among  women. 

Tlie  soft  bells  rang  on.  Men  blessed  them  and  ceased 
from  their  toils  in  field  and  forest.  Mothers  knelt  l)y  the  cra- 
dle and  uttered  the  sacred  words  with  emotions  such  as  only 
mothers  ft;el.  C'hildren  knelt  by  their  mothers,  and  learned 
the  story  of  God's  pity  in  api)earing  upon  earth  as  a  little 
child,  to  save  mankind  from  their  sins.  The  dark  Huron 
setting  his  snares  in  the  forest,  and  the  fishers  on  the 
shady  stream  stood  still.  'I'he  voyageur  sweeping  his 
canoe  over  the  broad  river,  suspended  his  oar  as  the  sol- 
enni  sound  reached  him,  and  he  repeated  the  angel's 
words  and  went  on  his  way  with  renewed  strength. 

The  sweet  bells  came  like  a  voice  of  pity  and  consola- 
tion to  the  ear  of  Caroline.  She  knelt  down,  and  clasping 
her  hands,  repeated  the  prayer  of  millions, 

"  Ave  Maria!  gratia  plena." 

She  continued  kneeling,  offering  up  prayer  after  prayer 
for  God's  forgiveness,  both  for  herself  and  for  him  who  had 
brought  her  to  this  pass  of  sin  and  misery.  "  JAv?  culpa! 
Men  maxima  culpa  r  repeated  she,  bowing  herself  to  the 
ground.  "  I  am  the  chief  of  sinners  ;  who  shall  deliver 
me  from  this  body  of  sin  and  afflicticij .''  " 

The  sweet  bells  kept  ringing.  They  woke  reminiscences 
of  voices  of  by-gone  days.     She  heard  her  father's  tones, 


AXGFJJQUE  DES  MELOISES. 


153 


ic   that 


not  in  anger  as  he  would  speak  now,  but  kind  and  lovin;;  as 
in  her  (hys  of  innocence.  She  heard  her  inf)ther,  long 
de;ul — oh,  how  happily  dead,  for  she  could  not  die  of  sor- 
row now,  over  her  dear  child's  fall.  She  heard  the  voices 
of  the  fair  companions  of  her  youth,  who  would  think 
shame  of  her  now  ;  and  amidst  them  all,  the  tones  of  the 
persuasive  tongue  that  wooed  her  maiden  love.  Mow 
changed  it  all  seemed  ;  and  yet,  as  the  repetition  of  two  or 
three  notes  of  a  bar  of  nuisic  brings  to  recollection  the 
whole  melody  to  which  it  belongs,  the  few  kind  words 
of  IJigot  spoken  that  morning  swept  all  before  them 
in  a  drift  of  hope.  Like  a  star  struggling  in  the  mist, 
the  faint  voice  of  an  angel  was  heard  afar  off  in  the 
darkness. 

'['he  ringing  of  the  vXngelus  went  on.  Her  heart  was  ut- 
terly niched.  Her  eyes,  long  parched,  as  a  spent  fountain 
in  tlie  burning  desert,  were  suddenly  filled  with  tears.  She 
felt  no  longer  the  agony  of  the  eyes  that  cannot  weep. 
'I'lie  blessed  tears  flowed  quietly  as  the  waters  of  Shiloh, 
bringing  relief  to  her  poor  soul,  famishing  for  one  true 
word  of  affection.  Long  after  the  sweet  bells  ceased 
their  chime,  C'aroline  kept  on  praying  for  him,  and  long 
after  the  shades  of  night  had  fallen  over  the  Chateau  of 
Beaumanoir. 


CHAPTER     XVL 


ANGELIQUE   DES   MELOISES. 

/'"^OMK  and  sec  me  to-night,  Le  Gardeur."     Angelique 

^-^     des  Meloises  drew  the  l)ridle  sharply,  as  she  halted 

her  spirited  horse  in  front  of  the  officer  of  the  guard  at  the 

St.  Louis  Gate.     "  Come  and  see  me  to-night  \  1  shall  be 

at  home  to  no  one  but  you.     Will  you  come  ,''  " 

Had  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  been  ever  so  laggard 
and  indifferent  a  lover,  the  touchof  that  pretty  hand,  and  the 
glance  from  the  dark  eye  that  shot  fire  down  into  his  very 
heart  would  have  decided  him  to  obey  this  seductive  invi- 
tation. 


i 


in  , 
1; 


154 


T///^  CHIEN  D'OR. 


He  held  her  hand  as  he  looked  up,  with  a  face  radiant 
with  joy.     "  I  will  surely  come,  Angelique.     But  tell  me — " 

She  interiui)led  him,  laughingly:  "No;  I  will  tell  you 
nothiuir  till  vou  come!     .So  {rood-hv  till  then." 

Ho  would  fain  have  prolonj^ed  tiie  interview;  but  she 
capriciously  shook  the  reins,  and  with  a  silvery  laugh,  rode 
through  the  gate-way  and  into  the  city.  In  a  few  minutes 
she  dismounted  at  her  own  home,  and,  gix'ing  her  hor.se  in 
charge  of  a  groom,  ran  lightly  up  the  broad  steps  into  the 
house. 

Tiie  family  mansion  of  the  Des  Meloises  was  a  tall  and 
rather  pretentious  edifice,  ove'looking  the  fashionable  Rue 
St.  T.ouis,  where  it  still  stands,  old  and  melancholy,  as 
if  mourning  over  its  departed  splendors.  Few  eyes  look 
up  nowadays  to  its  broad  fa(;ade.  It  was  otherwise  when 
the  beautit'ul  Angelique  des  Meloises  sat  of  summer  evenings 
on  the  balcony,  surrounded  by  a  bevy  of  Quebec's  fairest 
daughters,  who  loved  to  haunt  her  windows,  where  they 
could  see  and  be  seen  to  the  best  advantage,  exchanging 
salutations,  smiles  and  repartees  with  the  gay  young  officers 
and  gallants  who  rode  or  walked  along  the  li\ely  thorough- 
fare. 

The  house  was,  by  a  little  artifice  on  the  part  of  Angelique, 
empty  of  visitors  this  evening.  Even  her  brother,  the 
Clie\'alier  des  Meloises,  with  whom  she  lived,  a  man  of  high 
life  and  extreme  fashion,  was  to-night  enjoying  the  more 
couirenial  societv  of  the  officers  of  the  Reirinient  de  liearn. 
At  this  moment,  amid  the  clash  of  glasses  and  the  bubbling 
of  wine,  the  excited  and  voluble  Gascons  were  discussing 
in  one  breath,  the  war,  the  council,  the  court,  the  ladies, 
and  whatexer  gay  topic  was  tossed  from  end  to  end  of  the 
crowded  mess  table. 

"  Mademoiselle's  hair  has  got  loose  and  looks  like  a 
Huron's,"  said  her  maid  Lizette,  as  her  nimble  fingers  re- 
arranged the  rich  dark -golden  locks  of  Angelique,  which 
reached  to  the  floor  as  she  sat  upon  her  fauteuil. 

"  No  matter,  Lizette  ;  do  it  up  d  hi  J'ompadoiir,  and 
make  haste.  My  brain  is  in  as  great  confusion  as  my 
hair.  I  need  repose  for  an  hour.  Remember,  Lizette,  I 
am  at  home  to  no  one  to-night  except  the  Chevalier  de 
Repent  igny." 

"  The  Chevalier  called  this  afternoon,  Mademoiselle, 
and  was  sorry  he  did  not  find  you  at  home,"  replied  Lizette, 


ji  dMbi  «r»  *Mi>»<i  wi 


ANGELIQUE  DES  MELOISES. 


155 


who  saw  llie  eyelashes  of  her  mistress  quiver  and  droop  while 
a  flush  deepened  for  an  instant  the  roseate  hue  of  her 
cheek. 

"  I  was  in  the  country — that  accounts  for  it !  There  1 
My  hair  will  do  !  "  said  An-jjelique,  giving  a  glance  in  the 
great  Venetian  mirror  before  her.  Her  freshly  donned 
robe  of  blue  silk  eflged  with  a  foam  of  snowy  laces  and 
furbelows,  set  off  her  tall,  lithe  figure.  Her  arms,  bare  to 
the  elbows,  would  have  excited  Juno's  jealousy,  or  Hom- 
er's verse  to  greater  efforts  in  praise  of  them.  Her  dainty 
feet,  shapely,  aspiring  and  full  of  character  as  her  face, 
were  carelessly  thrust  forward,  and  upon  one  of  them  lay 
a  flossy  spaniel,  a  privileged  pet  of  his  fair  mistress. 

The  Boudoir  of  Angel ique  was  a  nest  of  luxury  and 
elegance.  Its  furnishings  and  adornings  were  of  the  newest 
Parisian  style.  A  carpet  woven  in  the  pattern  of  a  bed  of 
flowers,  covered  the  floor.  Vases  of  Sevres  and  Porcelain 
filled  with  roses  and  jonquils,  stood  on  marble  tables. 
Grand  Venetian  mirrors  reflected  the  fair  form  of  their 
mistress,  from  eve /y  point  of  view — who  contemplated  her- 
self before  and  l)ehind,  with  a  feeling  of  perfect  satisfac- 
tion and  a  sense  of  triumph  over  every  rival. 

A  hi'ipsichord  occupied  one  corner  of  the  room,  and 
an  elaborate  bookcase,  well  filled  with  splendidly  bound 
volumes,  another. 

An_;c'liciue  had  small  taste  for  reading,  yet  had  made  some 
acquaintance  with  the  literature  of  the  day.  Her  natural 
quick  parts,  and  good  taste,  enal.led  her  to  shine,  even  in 
hterary  conversation.  Her  bright  eyes  looked  volumes. 
Her  silveiy  l.iugh  was  wiser  than  the  wiscloin  of  a  Pr'e- 
cit'use.  Her  witty  repartees  covered  acres  of  deficiencies 
with  so  much  grace  and  tact,  that  men  were  tempted  to 
praise  her  knowledge  no  less  than  her  beauty. 

She  had  a  keen  eye  for  artistic  effects.  She  loved 
painting,  altiiough  her  taste  was  sensuous  and  voluptuous. 
Chaiacter  is  shown  in  the  choice  of  pictures  as  much  as 
in  that  of  books  or  of  companions. 

There  was  a  painting  of  Vanloo.  A  lot  of  full  blooded 
horses  in  a  fi^jld  of  clover.  They  iiad  broken  fence,  and  were 
luxuriating  in  the  rich  forbidden  pasture.  The  triumph 
of  Cleopatra  over  Antony,  by  Le  Hrun,  was  a  great  favor- 
ite with  Angel  ique,  because  of  a  fancied,  if  not  a  real  re- 
semblance between  her  own  features  and  those  of  the  famous 


iS6 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


' 


Queen  of  Egypt.  Portraits  of  favorite  friends,  one  of 
them  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny,  and  a  still  more  recent 
acquisition,  that  of  the  Intendant  Bi.i^ot,  adorned  the  walls, 
and  anioni;  thcin,  was  one  distin^^uishcd  for  its  contrast  to 
all  the  rest,  'i"he  likeness  in  the  Ljarb  of  an  Ur.suline  of 
her  beautiful  Aunt  Marie  des  Meloises,  who  in  a  fit  of 
caprice  some  years  before,  had  sucUfenly  forsaken  the 
world  of  fashion,  and  retired  to  the  convent.  Her  sweet 
soprano  voice  as  it  led  the  choir  in  the  old  Chapel,  was 
the  talk  and  the  admiration  of  the  citv.  Men  stood  in 
the  street  to  lis.'en  to  the  anii^elic  voice  of  the  unseen  nun, 
whose  hiiMen  beauty  was  said  to  be  reflected  in  the  match- 
less charms  of  Anu^elique,  l)ut  her  singing  no  one  in 
New    France  could  eciual. 

The  proud  beauty  threw  back  her  thick  golden  tresses  as 
she  scanned  her  fair  face  and  magnificent  figure  in  the  tall 
Venetian  mirror.  She  drank  the  intoxicating  cup  of  self- 
flattery  to  the  bottom,  as  she  compared  herself,  feature  by 
feature  with  every  beautiful  woman  she  knew  in  New 
France.  The  longer  she  looked  the  more  she  felt  the 
superiority  of  her  own  charms  over  them  all.  Even  the 
portrait  of  her  aimt,  so  like  her  in  feature,  so  different  in 
exi)ression,  was  glanced  at  with  something  like  triumph 
spiced  with  contem]:it. 

"  She  was  handsome  as  T,"  cried  Angelique.  "  She 
was  fit  to  be  a  queen,  and  made  herself  a  nun!  and  all  for 
the  sake  of  a  man  !  I  am  fit  to  be  a  queen  too,  and  the 
man  who  raises  me  nighest  to  a  queen's  estate,  gets  my 
hind  !  My  heart?"  she  prase  1  a  few  in  >;ni'its.  '*  Pshaw  !  " 
A  slight  quiver  pissed  over  her  lips.  "  My  heart  must  do 
penance  for  the  fault  of  my  hand  !  " 

Petrified  by  vanity  and  saturated  with  ambition,  Ange- 
lique retained  under  the  hard  crust  of  selfishness,  a  soli- 
tary spark  of  womanly  feeling.  The  handsome  face  and  . 
figure  of  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  was  her  beau  ideal  of 
m  inly  perfection.  His  admiration  flattered  her  pride. 
His  love,  for  she  knew  infallibly  with  a  woman's  instinct, 
that  he  loved  her,  touched  her  into  a  tenderness  such  as 
she  felt  ^or  no  man  beside.  It  was  the  nearest  approach 
to  love  iiL.1  nature  was  capable  of,  and  she  used  to  listen 
to  him  with  more  than  complacency,  while  she  lether  hand 
linger  in  his  warm  clas;"),  while  the  electric  fire  passed  from 
one  to  another,  and  she  looked  into  his  eyes,  and  spoke  to 


ANGEL /QUE  DES  MELOISES. 


157 


him  in  those  sweet  undertones  that  win  men's  hearts  to 
woman's  jKirposcs. 

She  believed  she  loved  Le  Gardeur,  but  there  was  no 
depth  in  the  soil  where  a  devoted  passion  could  take  firm 
root.  Still  she  was  a  woman  keenly  alive  to  admiration. 
Jealous  and  exactinijj  of  her  suitors,  never  willingly  letting 
one  loose  from  her  bonds,  and  with  warm  |)assions  and  a 
cold  heart,  was  easier  for  the  semblance  of  love,  althougii 
never  feeling  its  divine  reality. 

'J'he  idea  of  a  union  with  Le  Gardeur  some  day  when 
she  should  tire  of  the  whirl  of  fashion,  had  been  a  pleasant 
fancy  of  Angelique.  She  had  no  fear  of  losing  her  power 
over  him.  She  held  him  by  the  very  heart  strings,  and 
she  knew  it.  She  might  procrastinate,  play  fast  and  loose, 
drive  biim  to  the  very  verge  of  madness  by  her  cociuetiies, 
but  she  knew  she  could  draw  him  back,  like  a  bird  held  by 
a  silken  string.  She  could  excite,  if  she  could  not  feel 
the  fire  of  a  passionate  love.  In  her  heart  she  regarded 
men  a**  beings  created  for  her  service,  amusement  and 
sport,  to  worship  her  beauty,  and  adorn  it  with  gifts.  She 
took  everything  as  her  due,  giving  nothing  in  return.  Her 
love  was  an  empty  shell  that  never  held  a  kernel  of  real 
womanlv  care  for  anv  man. 

Amid  the  sunshine  of  her  fancied  love  for  Le  Gardeur, 
had  come  a  day  of  eclipse  for  him,  of  fresh  glory  for  her. 
The  arrival  of  the  new  Intendant  Higot,  changed  the  cur- 
rent of  Angelique's  ambition.  His  high  rank,  his  fabulous 
wealth,  his  connections  with  the  cou't,  and  his  unmarried 
state,  fanned  into  a  /lame  the  secret  aspirations  of  the 
proud,  ambitious  girl.  His  wit  and  gallantry  captivated 
her  fancy,  and  her  vanity  was  full  fed  by  being  singleU  out 
as  the  special  object  of  the  Intendant's  admiration. 

She  already  indulged  in  dreams  which  regarded  the  In- 
tendant himself  as  but  a  stei)ping  stc^ne  to  further  great- 
ness. Her  vivid  fancy,  conjured  up  scenes  of  royal 
splendor,  where,  introiluced  by  the  courtly  Bigot,  princes 
and  nobles  would  follow  in  her  train,  and  the  smiles  of 
majesty  itself  would  distinguish  her  in  the  royal  halls  of 
Versailles. 

Angelique  felt  she  had  jiower  to  accomplish  all  this, 
could  she  but  ojjen  the  way.  The  name  of  Ijigot,  she  re- 
garded as  the  ojjen  sesame  to  ill  greatness.  "  If  women 
rule  France  by  a  right  m(jre  divine  than  that  of  kings,  no 


fl 


■'■'i 


u 


158 


THE  CIHEN  D'OR. 


woman  has  a  better  riujht  than  I!  "  said  she,  G^azincj  into  the 
mirror  before  her.  "  The  kin<((lom  should  be  mine,  and 
death  to  all  other  pretenders  !  And  what  is  needed  after 
all  ? "  thouf;ht  she,  as  she  brushed  her  golden  hair  from 
her  temples  with  a  hand  firm  as  it  was  beautiful.  "  It  is  but 
to  pull  down  the  heart  of  a  man  !  I  have  done  that,  many 
a  time  for  my  pleasure.  I  will  now  do  it  for  my  profit,  and 
for  supremacy  over  my  jealous  and  envious  sex!  " 

Ani^elique  was  not  one  to  quail  when  she  entered  the 
battle  in  pursuit  of  any  object  of  ambition  or  fancy.  "  I 
never  saw  the  man  yet,"  said  she,  "  whom  1  could  not 
bring  to  my  feet  if  I  willed  it  \  The  Chevalier  Bigot  would 
be  no  exception.  That  is,  he  would  be  no  exception — 
the  voice  of  Angelique  fell  into  a  low  hard  monotone 
as  she  finished  the  sentence — "were  he  free  from  the 
influence  of  that  mysterious  woman  at  Beaumanoir,  who 
they  say  claims  the  title  of  wife  by  a  token  which  even 
Bigot  may  not  disregard  !  Her  pleading  eyes  may  draw 
his  compassion  where  they  ought  to  excite  his  scorn.  But 
men  are  fools  to  woman's  faults  and  are  often  held  by  the 
very  thing  women  never  forgive.  While  she  crouches  there 
like  a  lioness  in  my  path,  the  chances  are  I  shall  never  be 
Chatelaine  of   Beaumanoir — never  until  she  is  gone  !  " 

Angelique  fell  into  a  deep  fit  of  musing  and  murmured 
to  herself,  "  I  shall  never  reach  Bigot  unless  she  be  re- 
moved.    But  how  to  remove  her  ? " 

Aye,  that  was  the  riddle  of  the  Sphinx!  Angelique's 
life,  as  she  had  projected  it,  depended  upon  the  answer  to 
tliat  question. 

She  trembled  with  a  new  feeling;  a  shiver  ran  through 
her  veins,  as  if  the  cold  breath  of  a  spirit  of  evil  had  pass- 
ed over  her.  A  miner  boring  down  into  the  earth  strikes 
a  hidden  stone  that  brings  him  to  a  dead  stand.  So  An- 
gelique struck  a  hard,  dark  thought  far  down  in  the  depths 
of  her  secret  soul, 
it  shocked  :  .;d  frightened 

"  I  did  Uv/t  mean  that  !"  cried  the  startled  girl,  crossing 
herself.  ^'Alere  dc  Dicu !  1  did  not  conceive  a  wicke.l 
thought  like  that!  I  will  not!  I  cannot  contemplate  that !" 
She  shut  her  eyes,  pressing  both  hands  over  them,  as  if 
resolved  not  to  look  at  the  evil  thought  that  like  a  spirit  of 
da  •'■'■ness  came  when  evoked,  and  would  not  depart  when 
bidden. 


She  drew  it  to  the  light  and  gazed  on 


ANGELIQUE  DES  MELOISES. 


159 


The  first  suj^jp^estion  of  sin  comes  creepinnj  in  an  houi 
of  moral  (hirkness,  like  a  feeble  mendicant  who  craves  ad- 
mission to  a  corner  of  our  fireside.  We  let  him  in,  warm 
and  nourish  him.  We  talk  and  trifle  with  him  from  our 
high  seat,  thinkin<^  no  harm  or  danger.  Ikit  woe  to  us  if 
we  let  the  secret  assassin  lodge  under  our  roof  !  He  will 
rise  up  stealthily  at  midnight,  and  strangle  conscience  in 
her  bed,  murder  the  sleepiiig  watchman  of  our  uprightness, 
lulled  to  rest  by  the  opiate  of  strong  desire. 

Angelique  sat  as  in  an  enchanted  circle  round  which 
fluttered  shajjes  unknown  to  her  before,  and  the  face  of 
Caroline  de  St.  Castin  went  and  came,  now  approaching, 
now  receding  like  the  phantom  of  a  phantasmagoria.  She 
fancied  she  heard  a  rustle  as  of  wings,  a  sharp  cry  out 
of  the  darkness  and  all  w^as  still  !  Slie  sprang  up  trem- 
bling in  every  limb,  and  supporting  herself  against  a  table, 
seized  a  gikled  carafe  and  poured  out  a  full  goblet  of  wine, 
which  she  drank.  It  revived  her  fainting  spirit  ;  she  drank 
another,  and  stood  up  herself  again,  laughing  at  her  own 
weakness. 

She  ran  to  the  window  and  looked  out  into  the  night. 
The  bright  stars  shone  overhead,  the  lights  in  the  street 
reassured  her.  The  people  passing  by  and  the  sound  of 
voices  brought  back  her  familiar  mood.  She  thought  no 
more  of  the  temptation  from  which  she  had  not  prayed  to 
be  delivered,  just  as  the  daring  skater  forgets  the  depths 
that  underlie  the  thin  ice  over  which  he  skims,  careless  as 
a  bird  in  the  sunshine. 

An  hour  more  was  struck  by  the  loud  clock  of  the  Re- 
collets.  The  drums  and  bugles  of  the  garrison  sounded 
the  signal  for  the  closing  of  the  gates  of  the  city  and  the 
setting  of  the  watch  for  the  night.  Presently  the  heavy 
tramp  of  the  patrol  was  heard  in  the  street.  Sober  bour- 
geois walked  briskly  home,  while  belated  soldiers  ran  has- 
tily to  get  into  their  quarters  ere  the  drums  ceased  beating 
the  tattoo. 

The  sharp  gallop  of  a  horse  clattered  on  the  stony  pave- 
ment, and  stojjped  suddenly  at  the  door.  A  light  step  and 
the  clink  of  a  scal)bard  rang  on  the  steps.  A  familiar 
rap  followed.  Angelique,  with  the  infallible  intuition  of  a 
woman  who  recognizes  the  knock  and  footstep  of  her  lover 
from  ten  thousand  others,  sprang  up  and  met  Le  (Jardeur 
de  Repentigny  as  he  entered  the  Boudoir.     She  received 


in!! 


: 


if  II 


If 


« 


ff 


i6o 


THE  CiriRX  iroK. 


him  with  warnitli,  even  fondness,  for  she  was  jirond  of  T^e 
Gardeur  and  loved  him  in  her  secret  heart  beyond  ail  the 
rest  of  her  admirers. 

"Welcome,  Le  Gardeur  !  "  exclaimed  she,  jrivinp:  l)oih 
hands  in  his — "  I  knew  you  would  come,  you  are  welcome 
as  the  returned  prodigal  !  " 

"Dear    Angelique!"   repeated    he,   after   kissing  her 
hands  with   fervor.     "The  prodigal  was   sure  to   return. 
He  could  not  live   longer   on   the   dry  husks  of  mere  rec 
ollections." 

"  So  he  rose  and  came  to  the  house  that  is  full  and 
overflowing  with  welcome  for  him  !  It  is  g<  od  of  you  to 
come,  Le  (jardcur  !  why  have  you  stayed  so  long  away  ?  " 
Angel ic|ue  in  the  joy  of  his  presence,  forgot,  for  the  mo- 
ment, her  meditated  infidelity. 

A  swift  stroke  of  her  hand  swept  aside  her  flowing 
skirts  to  clear  a  place  for  him  upon  the  sofa,  where  he  sat 
down  beside  her. 

"This  is  kind  of  you,  Angelique,"  said  he,"  I  did  not 
expect  so  much  condescension  after  my  petulance  at  the 
Governor's  ball  ;  I  was  wicked  that  night,  f(M"give  me." 

"The  fault  was  more  mine,  I  doubt,  Le  Gardeur." 
Angelique  recollected  how  she  had  tormented  him  on  that 
occasion,  by  capricious  slights,  while  bounteous  of  her 
smiles  to  others.  "  I  was  angry  with  you,  because  of  your 
too  great  devotion  to  Cecile  Tourangeau." 

This  v^'as  not  true,  but  Ange'lique  had  no  scruple  to  lie 
to  a  lover.  She  knew  well  that  it  was  only  from  his  vexa- 
tion at  her  conduct,  that  Le  Gardeur  had  pretended  to  re- 
new some  long  intermitted  coquetries  with  the  fair  Cecile. 
"But  why  were  you  wicked  at  all  that  night  ?'' inquired 
she,  with  a  look  of  sudden  interest,  as  she  caught  a  red 
cast  in  his  eye,  that  spoke  of  much  dissipation.  "  You 
have  been  ill,  Le  Gardeur  !  "  But  she  knew  he  had  been 
drinking  deep  and  long,  to  drown  vexation,  perhaps,  over 
her  conduct. 

"  I  have  not  been  ill,"  replied  he  ;  "  shall  I  tell  you  the 
truth,  Angelique  ?  " 

"  Always,  and  all  of  it  !  The  whole  truth  and  nothing 
but  the  truth  !  "  Her  hand  rested  fondly  on  his  ;  no  word 
of  equivocation  was  possible  under  that  mode  of  putting 
her  lover  to  the  question :  "  Tell  me  why  you  were  wicked 
that  night !  " 


k  ■]nivf/d/«>Uln^«WWl 


ANGELIQUE  DES  MELOISES. 


i6i 


the 


"  Becnuse  I  loved  yoii  to  madness,  AnLjelique  ;  and  I 
saw  myself  thrust  from  the  first  place  in  your  lieart,  and  a 
new  idol  set  up  in  my  stead.     That  is  the  truth  !  " 

"That  is  not  the  truth!  "  exclaimed  she,  vehemently  ; 
"and  never  will  be  the  truth,  if  I  know  myself  and  you. 
But  you  don't  know  women,  Le  Gardeur,"  added  slie,  with 
a  smile  ;  "you  don't  know  me,  the  one  woman  you  ou.;ht 
to  know,  better  than  that! — " 

It  is  easy  to  recover  affection  that  is  not  lost.  Ang(5- 
lique  knew  her  power,  and  was  not  indisposed  to  excess  in 
the  exercise  of  it.  "  Will  you  do  something  for  me,  Le 
Gardeur?  "  asked  she,  tapping  his  fingers  coquettishly  with 
her  fan. 

"Will  I  not?  Is  there  anything,  in  earth,  heaven  or 
hell,  Angelique,  I  would  not  do  for  you,  if  I  only  could 
win  what  I  covet  more  than  life  ?  " 

"What  is  that?"  Ange'lique  knew  full  well,  what  he 
coveted  more  than  life  ;  her  own  heart  began  to  beat  re- 
sponsively  to  the  passion  she  had  kindled  in  his.  She 
nestled  up  closer  to  his  side.  ''  What  is  that,  Le  Gar- 
deur?" 

"Your  love,  Angelique  '  I  have  no  other  hope  in  life 
if  I  miss  that !  Give  me  your  love  and  I  will  serve  you 
with  such  loyalty  as  never  man  served  woman  with,  since 
Adam  and  Eve  were  created." 

It  was  a  rash  saying,  but  Le  Gardeur  believed  it,  and 
Angelique  too.  Still  she  kept  her  aim  before  her.  "  If  I 
give  you  my  love,"  said  she,  pressing  her  hand  tlirougli  his 
thick  locks,  sending  from  her  fingers  a  thousand  electric 
fires,  "will  you  really  be  my  knight,  my  Chcvalu'r  preiix^ 
to  wear  my  colors  and  fight  my  battles  with  all  tlie  world  ? ' 

"  I  will  by  all  that  is  sacred  in  man  or  woman  !  Your 
will  shall  be  my  law,  Angelique  ;  your  pleasure  my  con- 
science ;  you  shall  be  to  me  all  reason  and  moiive  for  my 
acts,  if  you  will  but  love  me  !  " 

"I  do  love  you,  Le  Gardeur!"  replied  she,  impetu- 
ously. She  felt  the  vital  soul  of  this  man  breathing  on 
her  cheek.  She  knew  he  spoke  true;  but  she  was  incapa- 
ble of  measuring  the  height  and  immensity  of  such  a  pas- 
sion. She  accepted  his  love  ;  but  she  could  no  more  con- 
tain the  fulness  of  his  overflowing  affection,  than  the 
pitcher  that  is  held  to  the  Fountain  can  contain  the  stream 
that  gushes  forth  perpetually. 

II 


l62 


THE  CfllEN  D'OR. 


!  j 


Anj^elique  was  almost  carried  iiway  from  her  puipa.se, 
however.  Had  her  heart  asserted  its  rightful  supremacy  ; 
that  is,  had  nature  fashioned  it  larji^er  and  warmer,  she 
had  there  and  then  thrown  herself  into  iiis  arms  and 
blessed  him  by  the  consent  he  sou<;Iit.  She  felt  assured 
that  here  was  the  one  man  God  had  made  for  her,  and  she 
was  cruelly  sacrificing  him  to  a  false  idol  of  ambition  and 
vanity.  The  word  he  pleaded  for  hovered  on  her  tongue, 
ready  like  a  bird  to  leap  down  into  his  bosom  ;  but  she 
resolutely  beat  it  back  into  its  iron  cage. 

The  struggle  was  the  old  one  ;  old  as  the  race  of  man. 
In  the  losing  battle  between  the  false  and  true,  love  rarely 
comes  out  of  that  conflict  inishorn  of  life  or  limb.  Un- 
true to  him,  she  was  true  to  her  sellish  self.  The  thought 
of  the  Intendant  and  the  glories  of  life  opening  to  her, 
closed  her  heart,  not  to  the  pleadings  of  Le  Gardeur,  them 
she  loved  ;  but  to  the  granting  of  his  prayer. 

The  die  was  cast,  but  she  still  clasped  hard  his  hand 
m  hers,  as  if  she  could  not  let  him  go.  "And  will  you  do 
all  you  say,  Le  Gardeur,  make  my  will  your  law  ;  my 
pleasure  your  conscience,  and  let  me  be  to  you  all  reason 
and  motive  ?     Such  devotion  terrifies  me,  Le  (lardeur  'i  " 

"  Try  me  !  Ask  of  me  the  hardest  thing  ;  nay  the  wick- 
edest, that  imagination  can  conceive  or  hands  do  ;  and  I 
would  perform  it  for  your  sake."  Le  Gardeur  was  getting 
beside  himself.  The  magic  power  of  those  dark  flashing 
eyes  of  hers  was  melting  all  the  fine  gold  of  his  nature  to 
folly. 

"Fie  !"  replied  she,  "  I  do  not  ask  you  to  drink  the 
sea.  A  small  thing  would  content  me.  My  love  is  not  so 
exacting  as  that,  Le  Gardeur." 

"  Does  your  brother  need  my  aid,"  asked  he,  "  If  he 
does,  he  shall  have  it  to  half  my  fortune,  for  your  sake  !  " 
Le  Gardeur  was  well  aware  tiiat  the  prodigal  brother  of 
Angelique  was  in  a  strait  for  money  as  was  usual  with 
him.  He  had  lately  importuned  Le  Gardeur  and  obtained 
a  large  sum  from  him. 

She  looked  up  with  well  affected  indignation.  "  How 
can  you  think  such  a  thing,  Le  Gardeur  ?  my  brother  was 
not  in  my  thought.  It  was  the  Intendant  I  wished  to  ask 
you  about,  you  know  him  better  than  1." 

This  was  not  true,  Angelique  had  studied  the  Intend- 
ant in  mind,  person  and  estate,  weighing  him  scruple  by 


enqpHnwaMemn 


ANGELIQUE  DES  MELOISES. 


163 


scruple  to  the  last  attainable  atom  of  information.  Not 
that  she  had  sounded  the  depths  of  J>iL:;()t's  soul,  there 
were  rej^ions  of  darkness  in  his  character,  whicii  no  eye 
but  God's  ever  penetrated.  An^elique  felt,  that  with  all 
her  acuteness,  she  did  not  comprehend  the  Intendant. 

"  You  ask  what  I  think  of  the  Intendant.'*  "  asked  he, 
surprised  somewhat  at  the  ([uestion. 

"Yes, — an  odd  question  is  it  not,  Le  (iardeur.!*"  and 
she  smiled  away  any  surprise  he  experienced. 

"Truly,  1  think  him  the  most  jovial  gentleman  that  ever 
was  in  New  l-'rance,"  was  the  rejily,  "  frank  and  o|)en- 
handed  to  his  friends,  laughing;  and  danj^erous  to  his  foes. 
His  wit  is  like  his  wine,  An<;elique  ;  one  never  tires  of 
either  ;  and  no  lavishness  exhausts  it.  In  a  word  I  like 
the  Intendant,  I  like  his  wit,  his  wine,  his  friends  ;  some 
of  them  that  is  I  but  ab  n'e  all,  I  like  you,  Ani^elique  and 
will  be  more  his  friend  than  ever  for  vour  sake  ;  since  I 
have  learned  his  generosity  towards  the  (Jhevalier  de 
Meloises." 

The  Intendant  had  recently  bestowed  a  number  of 
valuable  shares  in  tiie  Grand  Company  upon  the  brother 
of  Angelique,  making  the  fortune  of  that  extravagant 
young  nobleman. 

"  I  am  glad  you  will  be  his  friend,  if  only  for  my  sake," 
added  she  coquettishly.  "  Hut  some  great  friends  of  yours 
like  him  not.  \'our  sweet  sister  Amelie  shrank  like  a  sen- 
sitive plant  at  the  mention  of  his  name,  and  the  Lady  de 
Tilly  put  on  her  gravest  look  to-day  when  I  spoke  of  the 
Chevalier  Bigot. 

Le  Gardeur  gave  Ange'lique  an  equivocal  look  at  men- 
tion of  his  sister.  "  My  sister  Amelie  is  an  angel  in  the 
flesh,"  said  he.  "A  man  need  be  little  less  than  divine  to 
meet  her  full  approval  ;  and  my  good  aunt  has  heard  some- 
thing of  the  genial  life  of  the  Intendant.  One  may  excuse 
a  reproving  shake  of  her  noble  head." 

"Colonel  Philibert,  too!  he  shares  in  the  sentiments 
of  your  aunt  and  sister,  to  say  nothing  of  the  standing  hos- 
tility of  his  father,  the;  bourgeois,"  continued  Angelique, 
provoked  at  Le  Gardeur's  apparent  want  f>f  adhesion. 

"Pierre  Philibert!  He  may  not  like  the  Intendant. 
He  has  reason  for  not  doing  so  ;  but  I  stake  my  life  upon 
his  honor.  He  will  never  be  unjust  towards  the  Intendant 
or  any  man."  Le  Gardeur  could  not  be  drawn  into  a  cen- 
sure of  his  friend. 


Ilii 


I'M 

I  < 


III! 


164 


THE  CiriE.V  D'OR. 


\w'^iAk\\\c  shcMlhcd  adroitly  the  stiletto  of  imicndo 
she  had  dra'.vn  :  "  Voii  say  riiiht,"  said  she,  craftily,  "  I'ierre 
Philibert  is  a^etitleinan  worthy  of  your  rcji;ar(l.  I  confess 
I  have  seen  no  handsomer  man  in  New  France.  I  have 
been  dreaminj;  of  one  like  him  all  my  life  !  What  a  piiv  I 
saw  you  fust,  Le  Gardeur!"  added  she,  pulling  him  by  the 
hair. 

"  I  doubt  you  would  throw  me  to  the  fishes  were  Pierre 
my  rival,  Anicelique,"  replied  he,  merrily  ;  "but  I  am  in  no 
dan<;er  ;  Piern;' s  affections  are,  I  fancy,  forestalled  in  a 
quarter  where  I  need  not  be  jealous  of  his  success." 

"  I  shall  at  any  rate  not  be  jealous  of  your  sister,  Le 
Gardeur,"  said  Anu;elique,  raising  her  face  to  his,  suffused 
with  a  blush  ;  "if  1  do  not  give  you  the  love  you  ask  for 
it  is  because  you  have  it  already  ;  but  ask  no  more  at  pres- 
ent from  me — this,  at  least,  is  yours,"  said  she,  kissing  him 
twice,  without  prudery  or  hesitation. 

That  kiss  from  those  adored  lips  sealed  his  fate.  It 
was  the  first  ;  better  it  had  been  the  last.  I^ctter  he  had 
never  been  born  than  have  drank  the  poisow  of  her  lips. 

"  Now  answer  me  my  questions,  Le  Gardeur,"  added 
she,  after  a  pause  of  soft  blandishments. 

Le  Gardeur  felt  her  fingers  playing  with  his  hair,  as, 
like  Delilah,  she  cut  off  the  seven  locks  of  his  strength. 

''  'Phere  is  a  lady  at  Beaumanoir,  tell  me  who  and  what 
she  is,  Le  Gardeur,"  said  she. 

He  would  not  have  hesitated  to  betray  the  gate  of  henven 
at  her  prayer  ;  but,  as  it  happened,  Le  Gardeur  could  not 
give  her  the  special  information  she  wanted  as  to  the  i)articu- 
lar  relation  in  which  that  lady  stood  to  the  Litendant.  Ange'l- 
ique,  with  wonderful  coolness,  talked  away  and  laughed  at 
the  idea  of  the  Intendant's  gallantry.  Put  she  could  get 
no  confirmation  of  her  suspicions  from  Le  Gardeur.  Her 
inquiry  was  for  the  present  a  failure,  but  she  made  Le 
Gardeur  promise  to  learn  what  he  could,  and  tell  her  the 
result  of  his  inquiries. 

They  sat  long,  conversing  together,  until  the  bell  of  the 
Recollets  sounded  the  hour  of  midnight.  Angelique  looked 
in  the  face  of  Le  Gardeur  with  a  meaning  smile,  as  she 
counted  each  stroke  with  her  dainty  finger  on  his  cheek. 
When  finished,  she  sprang  up,  and  looked  out  of  the  lattice 
at  the  summer  night. 

The  stars  were  twinkling  like  living  things.     Charles' 


ANGEUOrE  DES  MELOISES. 


I^>S 


les' 


Wain  lay  invcrtcil  in  the  northern  hori/on  ;  Iiootes  had 
driven  his  sparklin;^  herd  down  the  slope  of  the  western 
sky.  A  few  thick  tresses  of  her  jjolden  hair  \\\\w%  negli- 
gently over  her  l)osom  and  shoulders.  She  placed  her 
arm  in  Le  Gardeur's,  han^in^Hieavily  upon  iiini,  as  she  tli- 
rected  his  eyes  to  the  starry  heavens.  The  seltisii  schemes 
she  carried  in  her  bosom  dropjjed  for  a  moment  to  the 
ground.  Her  feet  seemed  to  trample  them  into  the  dust, 
while  she  half  resolved  to  he  to  this  man  all  that  he  be- 
lieved her  to  he,  a  true  and  devoted  wtjman. 

"Read  my  destiny,"  Le  G''».  ',  said  she,  earnestly. 
"You  area  Senunarist.     'I'hev  le  wise  fathers  of  the 

seminary  study  clee])ly  the  sr'ei.  of  tiie  stars,  and  the 
students  all  Ijecome  adepts  in  it." 

"  Would  that  my  starry  heaven  were  more  propitious, 
Angelique,"  replied  he,  gaily  kissing  her  eyes.  "  I  care 
not  for  other  skies  than  these!  My  fate  and  fortune  are 
here." 

Her  bosom  heaved  with  mingled  passions.  The  word 
of  hope  and  the  word  of  denial  struggled,  on  her  lips  for 
mastery.  Her  blood  throbbed  quicker  than  the  beat  of  the 
golden  pendule  on  the  marble  table  ;  but,  like  a  bird,  the 
good  imjiulse  again  escaped  her  grasp. 

"  Look,  Le  Gardeur,"  said  she.  Her  delicate  finger 
pointed  at  Perseus,  who  was  ascending  the  eastern  heav- 
ens, "there  is  my  star.  Mere  Malheur — you  know  her  — 
she  once  said  to  me  that  that  was  my  natal  star  which 
would  rule  my  life." 

Like  all  whose  passions  pilot  them,  Angelique  believed 
in  destiny. 

Le  Gardeur  had  sip]3cd  a  few  drops  of  the  cup  of  astrol- 
ogy from  the  venerable  Professor  Vallier.  Angelic|ue's 
finger  pointed  to  the  star  Algol — that  strange,  mutable 
star  that  changes  from  bright  to  dark  with  the  hours,  and 
which  some   believe  changes  men's  hearts  to  stone. 

"  Mere  Malheur  lied  !''  exclaimed  he,  placing  his  arm 
round  her,  as  if  to  protect  her  from  the  baleful  influence. 
"That  cursed  star  never  presided  over  your  birth,  Angel- 
ique !     That  is  the  demon  star  Algol." 

Ange'lique  shuddered,  and  pressed  still  closer  to  him,  as 
if  in  fear. 

"  Mere  Malheur  would  not  tell  me  the  meaning  of  that 
star,  but  bade  me,  if  a  saint,  to  watch  and  wait ;  if  a  sin- 


1 66 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


ai 


ner,  to  wntrh  and  pray.  What  means  Alfjol,  Le  Gardeiir  ? 
she  lialf  faltered. 

"Nothin<;  for  you,  love.  A  fifj;  for  all  the  stars  in  the 
sky!  Your  bright  eyes  outshine  them  all  in  radiance,  and 
o\erpo\vc'r  thcni  in  influence.  All  the  music  of  the  spheres 
is  to  me  discord  compared  with  the  voice  of  Angulique 
des  Meloises,  whom  alone  1  love  ! " 

As  he  spoke,  a  strain  of  heavenly  harmony  arose  from 
the  chapel  of  the  Convent  of  the  Ursulines,  where  they 
were  celebrating  midnight  service  for  the  snfcty  of  New 
France.  Amid  the  sweet  voices  that  floated  up  on  the 
notes  of  the  pealing  organ  was  clearly  distinguished  that  of 
Mere  *■''  IJorgia,  the  aunt  of  Angelique,  who  led  the 
choir  of  nuns.  In  trills  and  cadences  of  divine  melody 
the  voice  of  Mere  St.  IJorgia  rose  higher  and  higher,  like  a 
spirit  mounting  the  skies.  The  words  were  indistinct,  but 
Ange'lique  knew  them  by  heart.  She  had  visited  her  aunt 
in  the  convent,  and  had  learned  the  new  hymn  composed 
by  her  for  the  solemn  occasion. 

As  they  listened  with  quiet  awe  to  the  supplicating 
strain,  Angelique  repeated  to  Le  Gardeur  the  words  of  the 
hymn  as  it  was  sung  by  the  choir  of  nuns  : 

Soutcnez,  grande  Reine, 
Notre  pauvre  pays ! 
II  est  votre  doniaine 
Faites  flcurir  nos  lis! 
L'Anglais  siirnos  fronti^res. 
Porte  ses  etendards, 
Exaucez  nos  piiercs 
Protegez  nos  remparts  !  " 

The  hymn  ceased.  Both  stood  mute  until  the  watch- 
man cried  the  hour  in  the  silent  street. 

"God  bless  their  holy  prayers,  and  good  night  and  God 
bless  3'ou,  Angelique !  "  said  Le  Gardeur,  kissing  her.  He 
departed  suddenly,  leaving  a  gift  in  the  hand  of  Lizette, 
•who  curtseyed  low  to  him,  with  a  smile  of  pleasure,  as  he 
passed  out,  while  Angelique  leaned  out  of  the  window 
listening  to  his  horse's  hoofs  until  the  last  tap  of  them  died 
away  on  the  stony  pavement. 

She  threw  herself  upon  her  couch  and  wept  silently. 
The  soft  music  had  touched  her  feelings.  Le  Gardcur's 
love  was  like  a  load  of  gold,  crushing  her  with  its  weight. 
She  could  neither  carry  it  onward  nor  throw  it  off.     She 


AXGRLIQUE  DF.S  .\fFJ.OrSF.S. 


.67 


fell  at  le»}];th  into  a  slumber  fillod  with  troubled  dreams. 
She  was  in  a  sandy  wilderness  carryinj;  a  pitcher  of  clear 
cold  water,  and  thoujjh  dyinj;  of  thirst  she  would  not  drinlc, 
but  perversely  poured  il  upon  the  j^round.  She  was  fall- 
in<i^  down  into  unfathomable  abysses  and  pushed  aside  the 
only  hand  stretched  out  to  save  her.  .She  was  drowninj; 
in  deep  water  and  she  saw  liC  Gardeur  buffetinjj  the 
waves  to  rescue  her  ;  but  she  wrenched  herself  out  of  his 
grasp.  .She  would  not  be  saved  and  was  lost  !  Iter  couch 
was    surrounded    with   indefmitiv  shapes    of    embryo  evil. 

She  fell  asleep  at  last.  When  she  awoke  the  sun  was 
pourin<:j  in  her  windows.  A  fresh  breeze  shook  the  trees. 
The  birds  sanp^  ^aily  in  the  garden.  The  street  was  alive 
and  stirrinii;  with  people. 

It  was  broad  day.  Angelique  des  Meloises  was  herself 
aj^ain.  Her  day  dream  of  ambition  resumed  its  power. 
Her  night  dream  of  love  was  over.  Her  fears  vanished, 
her  hopes  were  all  alive  and  she  began  to  prepare  for  a 
possible  morning  call  from  the  Chevalier  liigoL 


CHAPTER     XVn. 


SPLENDID  E    MENDAX. 


Amid  the  ruins  of  the  once  magnificent  palace  of  the 
Intendant,  massive  fragments  of  which  still  remain  to  attest 
its  former  greatness,  there  may  still  be  traced  the  outline 
of  the  room  where  Bigot  walked  restlesslv  up  and  down 
the  morning  after  the  council  of  war.  The  disturbing 
letters  he  had  received  from  France  on  both  public  and 
private  affairs  irritated  him  while  it  set  his  fertile  brain  at 
work  to  devise  means  at  once  to  satisfy  the  Marquise  de 
Pompadour   and   to  have  his  own  way  still. 

The  walls  of  his  cabinet  now  bare,  shattered,  and  roof- 
less !  with  the  blasts  of  six  score  winters,  were  hung  with 
portraits  of  ladies  and  statesmen  of  the  day  ;  conspicuous 
among  which  was  a  fine  picture  from  the  pencil  of  Vanloo 
of  the  handsome,  voluptuous  Marquise  de  Pompadour. 

With  a  world  of  faults,  that  celebrated  Dame  who  ruled 


i6S 


THE  err  [EN  D'OR. 


i 


^^1 


iM^ 


France,  in  the  name  of  Louis  XV.,  made  some  amends  by 
her  persistent  good  nature  and  her  love  for  art.  The 
painter,  the  architect,  the  sculptor,  and  above  all  the  men 
of  literature  in  France  were  ol^jects  of  her  sincere  admira- 
tion, and  her  ])atronage  of  them  was  generous  to  profusion. 
The  picture  of  her  in  the  cabinet  of  the  Intendant  had 
been  a  work  of  gratitude  by  the  great  artist  who  painted 
It,  ;ind  was  presented  by  her  to  Bigot  as  a  mark  of  her 
friendship  and  demi  royal  favor.  'Fhe  cabinet  itself  was 
rLuiiished  in  a  style  of  regal  magnificence,  which  the 
Julendant  carried  into  all  details  of  his  living. 

'Che  Chevalier  de  Pean.  the  secretary  and  confi  'ential 
friend  of  the  Inteiidant  was  writing  at  a  table.  He  looked 
up  now  and  then  witii  a  curious  glance  as  the  figure  of  his 
chic  f  moved  to  and  fro  with  quick  turns  across  the  room. 
Eat  neither  of  them  spoke. 

IJigot  would  have  been  quite  content  with  enriching 
hims'Mr  and  his  friends,  and  turningout  of  dehors  the  crowd 
of  courtly  sycophants  who  clamored  for  the  plunder  of  the 
colony.  He  had  sense  to  see  that  the  course  of  policy  in 
wliich  he  was  embarked  might  eventually  ruin  New  France. 
Nay,  having  its  origin  in  the  court  might  undermine  the 
whole  fabric  of  the  monarchy.  He  consoled  himself,  how- 
(;ver,  with  the  reflection  liiat  it  could  not  be  heli)ed.  He 
formed  but  one  link  in  the  great  chain  of  corruption,  and 
one  link  could  not  stand  alone.  It  could  only  move  by 
following  those  which  went  before,  and  dragging  after  it 
tlujse  that  came  behind.  Without  debating  a  useless  noint  of 
morals,  Higot  quietly  resigned  himself  to  the  service  of  his 
masters  or  rather  mistresses,  after  he  had  first  served  him- 
self. 

If  the  enormous  plunder  made  out  of  the  administra- 
tion of  the  war  by  the  great  monopoly  he  had  estab- 
l'  ihed  were  suddenly  to  cease,  Bigot  felt  that  his  genius 
would  be  put  t(/  a  severe  test,  Hut  he  hid  no  misgivings, 
because  he  had  no  scruples.  He  was  not  the  man  to  go 
under  in  any  storm.  He  would  light  upon  his  feet,  as  he 
expres.'ed  it,  if  the  world  turned  upside  down. 

Bigot  suddenly  stopped  in  his  walk.  His  mind  had 
been  dwelling  upon  the  great  affairs  of  his  Intendancy  and 
the  mad  policy  of  the  court  of  Versailles.  A  new  thought 
struck  him.  He  turned  and  looked  fixedly  at  his  sec 
retary. 


.-* 


SPLEXDIDE  MENDAX. 


169 


"  De  Pean  !  "  snifl  ho.  "  We  have  not  a  sure  hold  of  the 
Chevaher  de  RepeiUiL:;ny  1  Tlial  yomii^  fellow  plavs  fast 
and  loose  with  us.  One  who  dines  with  nie  at  the  pal- 
ace and  sups  with  the  Philiherts  at  the  Chien  d"()r,  can- 
not be  a  safe  i^artner  in  the  Grand  Conipanv  ! — " 

•'  I  have  small  confidence  in  him  either,"  replied  De 
Pean.  "  Le  (lardeur  has  too  many  loose  ends  of  respec- 
tability hangin^j^  about  him  to  make  him  a  sure  hold  for  our 
game." 

"  Just  so  !  Cadet,  Varin  and  the  rest  of  you  have  only 
half  haltered  the  youni;  colt.  His  training  so  far  is  no 
credit  to  you  !  The  way  that  cool  bully  Colonel  Philibert 
walked  off  with  him  out  of  Jkaumanoir,  was  a  sublime 
specimen  of  impudence.  Ha!  Ha!  The  recollection  of  it 
has  salted  my  meat  ever  sivce  !  It  was  admirably  per- 
formed !  although,  egad,  i  should  have  liked  to  run  my 
sword  through  Philibert's  ribs!  and  not  one  of  you  all  was 
man  enough  to  do  it  for  me  !  " 

"  Put  your  excellencv  gave  no  hint,  yon  seemed  full  of 
politeness  tc/wards  Philibert,"  replied  De  I'ean,  with  atone 
that  implied  he  would  have  done  it,  had  Pigot  given  the 
hint. 

"Zounds!  as  if  I  do  not  know  it!  Put  it  was  provok- 
ing to  be  flouted,  so  politely  too,  by  that  whelp  of  the 
G(jlden  Dog  I  The  iiitiuence  of  that  Philibert  is  innnense 
over  young  De  RepeiUigny.  'J'hey  say  he  once  pulled  him 
out  of  the  water,  and  is  moreover  a  suitor  of  the  sister,  a 
charming  girl,  De  Pean  !  with  no  end  of  money,  lands, 
and  family  power.  .She  ought  to  be  secured  as  well  as 
her  brother  in  the  interests  of  the  Grand  Company.  A 
good  marriage  with  one  of  our  i)arty,  would  secure  her, 
and  none  of  you  dare  ])ropose,  by  (iod  !  " 

"  It  is  Uiieless  to  think  of  proposing  to  her,"  replied  De 
Pean.  "  I  know  the  proud  minx.  She  is  one  of  the 
angelic  ones,  who  regard  marriage  as  a  thing  of  heaven's 
arrangement,  She  believes  God  ne\er  makes  but  one 
man  for  one  woman,  and  it  is  her  duty  to  marrv  him  or 
nobody.  It  is  whispered  among  the  knowing  girls  who 
went  to  school  with  her  at  the  Convent,  (and  the  Convent 
girls  do  know  everything,  and  something  more  !)  that  she 
always  cherished  a  secret  affection  for  this  Philibert,  and 
that  she  will  marry  him  some  dax." 

Marry  Satan  !     Such  a  girl  as  that  to  marry  a  cursed 


_ 

i 

'  i'-' 

i:< 

1 

II 


170 


THE  cm  EN  noR. 


L- 


m 


! 

i 


' 


)    ! 


s  ■ 


\ 


B 


Philibert!"  Bifjot  was  reallv  irritated  at  tlic  information. 
"  I  think  "  said  he,  "women  are  ever  ready  to  sail  in  the 
ships  of  Tarshish,  so  long  as  the  car<^o  is  gold,  silver, 
ivory,  apes  and  peacocks !  It  speaks  ill  for  the  boasted 
gallantry  of  the  Cirand  Company  if  not  one  of  them  can  win 
this  girl.  If  we  could  gain  her  over,  we  should  have  no 
difficulty  with  the  brother,  and  the  jjoint  is  to  secure  him." 

"There  is  but  one  way  1  can  see,  your  excellency." 
De  Pean  did  not  appear  to  make  his  suggestion  very  cheer- 
fully, but  he  was  anxious  to  please  the  Intendant. 

'"  How  is  that  }  "  the  Intendant  asked  sharply.  He  had 
not  the  deepest  sense  of  De  Pean's  wisdom. 

"  We  must  call  in  woman  to  fight  woman  in  the  in- 
terests of  the  CompriUy,  '  replied  the  Secretary. 

*' A  good  scheme  if  one  could  be  got  to  fight  and  win! 
But  do  you  know  any  woman  who  can  lay  her  ftngers  on 
Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny,  and  pull  him  out  from  among 
the  Honnvtcs  gens  /  " 

"  I  do,  your  Excellency.  I  know  the  very  one  can 
do  it,"  replied  De  Pean  confidently. 

"  You  do  !  Why  do  you  hesitate  then  ?  Have  you  any 
arrt'"t'  pcns^c  that  keeps  you  from  telling  her  nawe  at 
once?"  asked  the  Intendant  impatiendy. 

"  It  is  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises.  She  can  do  it,  and 
no  other  woman  in  New  France  need  try  ! "  replied  De 
Pean. 

''  Why  she  is  a  clipper  certainly  !  Bright  eyes  like  hers 
nile  the  world  of  fools,  (and  of  wise  men  too)  "  added  Bigot 
in  a  parenthesis.  "  However,  all  the  world  is  caught  by 
that  bird-lime.  I  confess  I  never  made  a  fool  of  myself  but 
a  woman  was  at  the  bottom  of  it.  But  for  one  who  has 
tripped  me  up  I  have  taken  sweet  revenge  on  a  thousand. 
If  Le  Gardeur  be  entangled  in  Nerea's  hair,  he  is  safe  in 
our  toils.    Do  you  think  Angc'licjue  is  at  home,  De  Pean  ,''  " 

The  Intendant  looked  up  at  the  clock.  It  was  the  usual 
hour  for  morning  calls  in  Quebec. 

"  Doubtless  she  is  at  home  at  this  hour,  your  Excel- 
lency,'' replied  De  Pean.  ''But  she  likes  her  bed  as 
other  pretty  women  do,  and  is  practising  for  \\\q.  pditc levee 
like  a  Duchess.     I  don't  suppose  she  is  up  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  replied  Bigot.  "  A  greater  runa- 
gate in  petticoats  there  is  not  in  the  whole  city  !  I  never 
pass  through  the  streets  but  I  see  her." 


SPLENDID  E    MEND  AX. 


171 


"  Aye,  that  is  because  she  intends  to  meet  your  Excel- 
lency !  "  I]i.:jjot  looked  sharply  at  De  Pean.  A  new  thought 
flashed  in  his  eyes. 

"What  !  think  you  she  makes  a  point  of  it,  De  Pean  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  would  not  iioout  of  the  wavof  vour  Plxcel- 
lency."  De  Pean  shuffled  anionic  his  papers.  But  his  slight 
agitation  was  noticed  by  the  Intendant. 

"  Hum  !  is  that  your  thought,  De  Pean  ?  Looks  r^ie  in 
this  quarter?"  Bigot  meditated  with  his  hand  on  his  chin 
for  a  moment  or  two.  "  You  think  she  is  doubtless  at  home 
this  morning  ?  "  added  he. 

"  It  was  late  when  De  Repentigny  left  her  last  night,  and 
she  would  have  long  and  pleasant  dreams  after  that  visit  I 
warrant,"  replied  the  Secretary. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  By  St.  Picot !  You  watch  her 
closely,  De  Pean  !  " 

"  I  do,  your  Excellency.    I  have  reason,"  was  the  reply. 

De  Pean  did  not  say  what  his  reason  for  watching 
Angelique  was  ;  neither  did  Bigot  ask.  The  Intendant 
cared  not  to  pry  into  the  personal  matters  of  his  friends. 
He  had  himself  too  much  to  conceal  not  to  respect  the 
secrets  of  his  associates. 

"  Well,  De  Pean  !  I  will  wait  on  Mademoiselle  des 
Meloises  this  morning.  I  will  act  on  your  suggestion,  and 
trust  I  shall  not  find  her  unreasonable." 

"  I  hope  your  Excellency  will  not  find  her  unrea- 
sonable, but  I  know  you  will,  for  if  ever  the  devil  of  con- 
tradiction was  in  a  woman  he  is  in  Angelique  des 
Meloises  !"  replied  De  Pean  savagely,  as  if  he  spoke  from 
some  experience  of  his  own. 

"  Well  I  will  try  to  cast  out  that  devil  by  the  power  of  a 
still  stronger  one.     King  for  my  horse,  De  Pean  !  " 

The  Secretary  obeyed  and  ordered  the  horse.  "Mind, 
De  Pean  !  "  continued  the  Intendant.  "  The  Board  of  the 
Grand  Company  meet  at  three  for  business  !  actual  busi- 
ness !  not  a  drop  of  wine  ujion  the  tal>le,  and  all  sober  ! 
not  even  Cadet  shall  come  in  if  he  shows  one  streak  of  the 
grape  on  his  broad  face.  There  is  a  storm  of  peace  coming 
over  us,  and  it  is  necessary  to  shorten  sail,  take  soundings 
and  see  where  we  are,  or  we  may  strike  on  a  rock." 

The  Intendant  left  the  palace  attendc.'d  by  a  couple  of 
equerries.  He  rotle  througli  the  jjalace  gate  and  into  the 
city.      Habitans  and  citizens  bowed  to  him,  out  of  habitual 


172 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR, 


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v\ 


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i  \ 

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M 


I  i ' 


I  Pi 


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If: 


w 


respect  for  their  superiors,  "Biijot  returned  their  saluta- 
tions witli  official  l)re\ity,  but  his  (hirk  fiice  broke  into  sun- 
shine as  he  passed  ladies  and  citizens  whom  he  knew  as 
partners  of  the  Grand  Company,  or  partizans  of  his  own 
faction. 

As  lie  rode  rapidly  throu!i;h  the  streets  many  an  ill  wish 
followed  him,  until  he  dismounted  before  the  mansion  of 
the  Des  Meloises. 

"  As  I  live  it  is  the  royal  Intendant  himself,"  screamed 
Lizctte,  as  she  ran  out  of  breath  to  inform  her  mistress,  who 
was  sitting'  alone  in  the  sununer-house  in  the  ij^arden,  be- 
hind the  mansion,  a  jjretty  spot  tastefully  laid  out  with 
flower  beds  and  statuary.  A  thick  hed-jje  of  privet  cut  into 
fantastic  shajDes  by  some  disciple  of  the  school  of  Le 
Nostre,  screened  it  from  the  slopes  that  ran  up  towards  the 
green  iijlacis  of  Cape  Diamond. 

Anj^elicjue  looked  beautiful  as  Hebe  the  p^oiden  haired, 
as  she  sat  in  the  arbor  this  morning.  Her  light  morning 
dress  of  softest  texture  fell  in  graceful  folds  about  her 
excpiisite  form.  She  held  a  book  cf  Hours  in  her  hand,  but 
she  had  not  once  opened  it  since  she  sat  down.  Her  dark 
eyes  looked  not  soft,  nor  kindly,  but  bright,  defiant,  wanton 
and  even  wicked  in  their  expression — like  the  eyes  of  an 
Arab  steed,  wiiijipcd,  spurred,  and  brought  to  a  desperate 
leap.  \\  may  clear  the  wall  before  it,  or  may  dash  itself 
dead  against  the  stones.  Such  was  the  temper  of  Angelique 
this  morning. 

Hard  thcn-.ghts  and  many  respecting  the  Lady  of  Beau- 
manoir — fondi,  almost  sa\age  regret  at  her  meditated  rejec- 
tion of  De  Repentigny — glittering  images  of  the  royal  In- 
tendant, and  of  the  splendors  of  Versailles,  passed  in  rapid 
succession  througli  her  brain,  forming  a  phantasmagt)ria  in 
which  she  colored  e^er\tl-iing  accordinir  to  her  own  fancv. 
'Hie  words  of  her  maid  roused  her  in  an  instant. 

"  Admit  the  I  intendant  and  show  him  into  the  garden, 
Li/.ette  !  Now  I  "  said  she,  "1  shall  end  my  doubts  about  that 
lady!  I  will  testuie  Intendant's  sincerity  !  Cold,  calculating 
woman  slayer  that  he  is  !  It  shames  me  to  contrast  his  half 
heartedness  with  the  perfect  adoration  of  my  handsome  Le 
Gardeur  de  Repentigny  I 

The  Ii^fendant  entered  the  garden.  Angt?l:que  with 
that  complete  self-control  which  distingui;  lies  a  woman  of 
half  •;:  heart,  or  no  heart  at  a'l,  changed  her  whole  demeanor 


^4W. 


SPLEXDIDE    MEXDAX. 


173 


in  a  moment  from  ji^ravity  to  ^ayety-  Her  eyes  flashed  out 
pleasure,  and  her  climples  went  and  came,  as  she  welcomed 
the  Intcndant  to  her  arbor. 

"  A  friend  is  never  so  welcome  as  when  he  comes  of  his 
own  accord  !  "  said  she,  presenting  her  hand  to  the  Inten- 
dant,  who  took  it  with  empressement.  She  made  room  for 
him  on  the  seat  beside  her,  dashing  her  skirts  aside  some- 
what ostentatiously. 

Bigot  looked  at  her  admiringly.  He  thoi;,ht  he  had 
never  seen  in  painting,  statuary,  or  living  form,  a  more 
beautiful  and  fascinating  woman. 

Angelique  accepted  his  admiration  as  her  due,  feeling 
no  thanks,  but  looking  many. 

*'  The  Chevalier  Bigot  does  not  lose  his  politeness,  how- 
ever long  he  absents  himself !  "  said  she,  with  a  glance  like 
a  Parthian  ariow  well  aimed  to  strike  home. 

"  1  have  been  hunting  at  Beaumanoir,"  re])lied  he,  ex- 
tenuatingly,  "  That  must  explain,  not  excuse,  my  apparent 
neglect,"  Bigot,  felt  that  he  had  really  been  a  loser  by  his 
absence. 

"  Hunting  !  indeed  !  "  Angelique  affected  a  touch  of 
surprise,  as  if  she  had  not  icnown  every  tittle  of  gossip  about 
the  gay  party  and  all  their  doings  at  the  Chateau.  "  They 
say  game  is  growing  scarn'  near  the  city.  Chevalier,"  cr)n- 
tinued  she  nonchalantly,  and  that  a  hunting  party  at 
Beaumanoir  is  but  a  prett\  metonomy  for  a  party  of  plea- 
sure, is  that  true  ?  " 

"  Quite  true.  Mademoiselle,"  replied  he,  laughing.  "  The 
two  things  are  perfectly  compatible  like  a  brace  of  lovers, 
all  the  better  for  being  made  one." 

"  Very  gallantly  said  !  "  retorted  she  with  a  ripple  of 
dangerous  laughter.  "I  will  carry  the  comparison  no 
farther.  Still  I  wager,  Chevalier,  that  the  game  is  not 
worth  the  hunt." 

"  The  play  is  always  worth  the  candle,  in  my  fancy," 
said  he,  with  a  glance  of  meaning ;  '*  but  there  is  really 
good  game  yet  in  Beaumanoir,  as  you  will  confess, 
Mademoiselle,  if  you  will  honor  our  party  some  day  with 
your  presence." 

"  Come  now,  Chevalier,"  rei:)lied  she,  fixing  him  mis- 
chievously with  her  eyes,  "  tell  me  what  game  do  you 
find  in  the  forest  of  Beaumanoir  .!*  " 

'*  Oh  !  rabbits,  hares,  and  deer,  with  now  and  then  a 
rough  bear  to  try  the  mettle  of  our  chasseurs." 


f 


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174 


T//E  ClIIEN  D'OR. 


"What !  no  foxes  to  cheat  foolish  crows?  no  wolves  to 
devour  pretty  Reel  Ridinaj  Hoods  straying  in  the  forest  ? 
Come,  Chevalier,  there  is  better  game  than  all  that,"  said 
she. 

"Oh,  yes?" — he  half  surmised  she  was  rallying  him  now 
— "plenty,  but  w  don't  wind  horns  after  them," 

"  They  say,"  continued  she,  "  there  is  much  fairer 
game  than  bird  or  beast  in  the  forest  of  IJeaumanoir,  Che- 
valier." She  went  on  recklessly,  "  Stray  lambs  are  picked 
up  by  Intendants  sometimes,  and  carried  tenderly  to  the 
Chateau  !  The  Iritendant  comprehends  a  gentleman's  de- 
voirs to  our  sex,  1  am  sure." 

Bigot  understood  her  now,  and  gave  an  angry  start. 
Angelique  did  not  shrink  from  the  temper  she  had  evoked. 

"Heavens!  how  you  look.  Chevalier!"  said  she,  in  a 
tone  of  half  banter.  "  One  would  think  I  had  accused 
you  of  murder,  iiistead  of  saving  a  fair  lady's  life  in  the 
forest ;  although  woman-killing  is  no  murder,  I  believe,  by 
the  laws  of  gallantry,  as  read  by  gentlemen — of  fashion." 

Bigot  rose  up  with  a  hasty  gesture  of  impatitMice  and 
sat  down  again.  "After  all,"  he  thought,  "what  could 
this  girl  know  about  Caroline  de  St.  Caslin  ?  "  He  ans- 
wered her  with  an  appearance  of  frankness,  deeming  that 
to  be  the  best  policy. 

"  Yes,  Mademoiselle,  I  one  day  found  a  poor  suffering 
woman  in  the  forest.  I  took  her  to  the  Chi'iteau,  where  she 
now  is.  Many  ladies  beside  her  have  been  to  Beau- 
manoir.  Many  more  will  yet  come  and  go,  until  lend 
my  bachelordom.  and  place  one  there  in  perpetuity,  as 
'  mistiess  of  my  neart  and  home,'  as  the  song  says." 

Ange'lique  could  coquette  in  half  meannigs  with  any 
lady  of  honor  at  Court.  "Well,  Chevalier,  it  will  be  your 
fault  not  to  find  one  fit  to  place  there.  They  walk  every 
street  of  the  city.  But  they  say  this  lost  and  found  lady  is 
a  stranger?  " 

"  To  me  she  is — not  to  you,  pediaps,  Mademoiselle  ! 

The  fine  ear  of  Angelique  detected  the  strain  of  hypo- 
crisy in  his  speech.  It  touched  a  sensitive  nerve.  She 
spoke  boldly  now. 

"  Some  say  she  is  your  wife.  Chevalier  Bigot !  "  An- 
gdlique  gave  vent  to  a  feeling  long  pent  up.  She  who 
trifled  with  men's  hearts  every  day  was  indignant  at  the 
least  symptom  of  repayment  in  kind.     "  They  say  she  is 


W:S 


SPLENDIDE    AfEYDAX. 


I7S 


your  wife,  or  if  not  your  wife,  she  ought  to  be,  Chevalier; 
and  will  be,  jDerhaps,  one  of  these  fine  clays,  when  you 
have  wearied  of  the  distressed  damsels  of  the  citv." 

It  had  been  belter  for  Jiigot,  better  for  Angelique,  that 
these  two  C(Uild  have  frankly  understood  each  other.  Bigot, 
in  his  sudden  admiration  of  the  beauty  of  this  girl,  forgot  that 
his  oliject  in  coming  to  see  her  had  really  been  to  promote 
a  marriage,  in  the  interests  of  the  Grand  Con<i>any,  l)et\veen 
her  and  Le  (iardeur.  Her  witcheries  had  been  loo  potent 
for  the  man  of  pleasure.  He  was  himself  caught  in  the  net 
he  spread  for  another.  The  adroit  bird  catching  of  An- 
gelique  was  too  much  for  him  in  the  beginning.  I'igol's 
tact  and  consummate  hearllessness  with  women  might  be 
too  much  for  her  in  the  end.  At  the  present  moment  he 
was  fairly  dazzled  with  her  beauty,  spirit,  and  seductiveness. 

"  I  am  a  simple  quail, 'I  thought  he,  "  to  be  caught  by 
her  piping.  J\ir  Dun !  I  am  going  to  make  a  fool  uf  my- 
self if  1  do  not  take  care  !  Such  a  woman  as  this  1  have 
not  found  between  Paris  and  Naj^jles.  'I'he  man  who  gets 
her  and  knows  how  to  use  her  might  be  Prime  Minister  of 
France.  And  to  fancy  it  ! — I  came  here  to  pick  this  sweet 
chestnut  out  of  the  tire  for  Le  Gardeur  de  Rejjentigny  ! 
Francois  Bigot!  as  a  man  of  gallantry  and  fashion  1  am 
ashamed  of  you  !  " 

These  were  his  thoughts,  but  in  words  he  replied  :  "The 
lady  of  Iknumanoir  is  not  my  wife,  perhaps  ne\er  will  be." 
Angelic}ue's  eager  question  fell  on  very  unproducti\"e  ground. 

Angelique  repeated  the  word  superciliously.  "  Per- 
haps I  "  '  Perhaps  '  in  the  mouth  of  a  woman  Vs  consent 
half  won  ;  in  the  mouth  of  a  man  I  know  it  has  a  laxer 
meaning.  Love  has  nothing  to  say  to  'perhaps.'  It  is 
will  or  shall,  and  takes  no  'perhaps,'  though  a  thousand 
times  repeated  !  " 

"  And  you  intend  to  marry  this  treasure  trove  of  the 
forest  —  perhaps?"  continued  Ange'lique,  tapping  the 
ground  with  a  daintier  foot  than  the  Intendant  had  ever 
seen  before. 

"  It  depends  much  on  you.  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises," 
said  he.  "  Had  you  been  my  treasure  trove,  there  had  been 
no  'perhaps'  about  it."  Bigot  spoke  bluntly,  and  to 
Angelique  it  sounded  like  sincerity.  Her  dreams  were  ac- 
complished. She  trembled  with  the  intensity  of  her  grati- 
fication, and  felt  no  repugnance  at  his  familiar  address. 


<     !   I: 


173 


r//£  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


Mi ' 

m 


The  Tntcnrlant  hekl  out  his  hand  as  he  uttered  the 
dulcet  Mattery,  and  she  phiced  her  hand  in  his,  but  it  was 
cold  and  passionless.  Her  heart  did  not  send  the  blood 
leaping  into  her  finger  ends  as  when  they  were  held  in  the 
loving  grasp  of  T^e  Gardeur. 

"  Angelique  !  "  said  he.  It  was  the  first  time  the  Intend- 
ant  had  calle(i  her  bv  lier  name.  Slie  startetl.  It  was  the 
unlocking  of  his  heart,  she  thought,  and  she  looked  at  him 
with  a  smile  which  she  had  practised  with  infallible  effect 
upon  many  a  foolish  admirer. 

"  Angelique,  I  have  seen  no  woman  like  you  in  New 
France  or  in  Old.  You  are  fit  to  adorn  a  Court,  and  I 
predict  you  will — if — if — " 

"  If  what,  Chevalier  !  "  Her  eyes  fairly  blazed  with 
vanity  and  pleasure.  "  Cannot  one  adorn  Courts,  at  least 
French  C'ourts,  without  ifs  .''  " 

"  You  can,  if  you  choose  to  do  so,"  replied  he,  looking 
at  her  admiringly,  for  her  whole  countenance  flashed  intense 
pleasure  at  his  remark. 

''  If  I  choose  to  do  so  ?  I  do  clioose  to  do  so  !  But 
who  is  to  show  me  the  way  to  the  Court,  Chevalier?  It  is 
a  long  and  weary  distance  from  New  France." 

"  I  will  show  you  the  way,  if  you  will  permit  nie,  An- 
gelique. Versailles  is  the  only  fitting  theatre  for  the  dis- 
play of  beauty  and  spirit  like  ycjurs.'" 

Angelique  thoroughly  believed  this,  and  for  a  few 
moments  was  dazzled  and  overpowered  by  the  thought 
of  the  golden  doors  of  her  ambition  opened  by  the  hand 
of  the  Intendant.  A  train  of  images,  full  winged  and  as 
gorgeous  as  birds  of  paradise,  flashed  across  her  vision. 
La  Pompadour  was  getting  old,  men  said,  and  the  King 
was  already  casting  his  eyes  round  the  circle  of  more 
youthful  beauties  in  his  Cout  t  for  a  successor.  "  And  what 
woman  in  the  world,"  thought  she,  '*  could  vie  with 
Angelique  des  Meloises  if  she  chose  to  enter  the  arena  to 
supplant  Lr.  Pompadour .''  Nay,  more  !  If  the  prize  of  the 
King  were  her  lot,  she  would  outdo  La  Maintenon  herself, 
and  end  by  sitting  on  the  throne." 

Angelique  was  not,  however,  a  milkmaid  to  say  yes 
before  she  was  asked.  She  knew  her  value,  and  had 
a  natural  distrust  of  the  Intendant's  gallant  speeches. 
Moreover,  the  shadow  of  the  lady  of  lieaumanoir  would 
not  wholly  disappear.     ''  Why  do  yua  say  such  flattering 


SPLEXniDE  MEXDAX. 


177 


thinjxs  to  me,  Chevalier?  "  asked  she, 


One  t likes  them 


id 

as 
)n. 


at 
:li 

[o 
ie 


:S. 

id 


for  earnest  eominj,;  from  tlie  Royal  Intendant.  Vou  should 
leave  triHing  to  the  idle  voun;r  men  of  the  citv,  who  have 
no  business  to  employ  tiiem  but  gallantinjj  us  women." 

"'l'riHin<;!  I'y  St.  Jeanne  de  Choisy,  I  was  never 
more  in  earnest.  Mademoiselle  !  "  exclaimed  Di-jot-  "  I 
offer  you  the  enlire  devotion  of  my  heart."  Si.  Jeanne  de 
Choisy  was  the  soubriquet  in  the  pctits  af^artcm:n^  for  La 
Pompadour.  Anfi^elique  knew  it  very  well,  allh()UL;h  l>ii;ot 
thou<ilit  she  did  not. 

"  Fair  words  are  like  flowers,  Chevalier  ;"  replied  she, 
"  sweet  to  smell  and  pretty  to  look  at.  Hut  love  feeds  on  ripe 
fruit.  Will  you  prove  your  devotion  to  me  if  I  put  it  to 
the  test." 

"  Most  willingly,  Angelique  !  "  Bigot  thought  she  con- 
templated some  idle  fieak  that  might  try  liis  gallantry, 
perhaps  his  purse.     Ikit  she  was  in  earnest,  if  he  was  not. 

"  I  ask  then,  the  Chevalier  JJigot,  that  before  he  speaks  to 
me  again  of  love  or  devotion,  he  shall  remove  that  la  ly 
whoever  she  may  be,  from  3»caumanoir  !  "  Angeliciue  sat 
erect  and  looked  at  him  with  a  long  fixed  look  as  she  said 
this. 

"Remove  that  lady  from  Beanmanoir !"  exclaimed  he 
in  complete  surprise,  "  Surely  tliat  poor  shadow  does  not 
prevent  your  accepting  my  devotion.  Ange'li(,[uc  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  it  does,  Chevalier  !  I  like  bold  men.  Most 
women  do,  but  I  did  not  think  that  even  the  Intendant  of 
New  France  was  bold  enough  to  make 'love  to  Ang('lic|ue 
des  Meloises  while  iie  kept  a  wife  or  mistress  in  stately 
seclusion  at  l^eauinanoir  !  " 

Bigot  cursed  the  shrewishnessandinnate  jealousy  of  the  sex 
which  would  not  content  itself  with  just  so  much  of  a  man's 
favor  as  he  chose  to  bestow,  but  must  ever  want  to  rule 
single  and  alone.  "  Every  vvo'v.an  is  a  despot,"  thought  he, 
""and  has  no  mercy  upoi,  pretenders  to  her  throne." 

"  That  lady,  "  replied  he,  "is  neither  wife  nor  mistress, 
Mademoiselle.  She  sou<j;ht  the  shelter  of  mv  roof  with  a 
claim  upon  the  hospitality  of  Beaumanoir." 

"  No  doubt,"  Angelique's  nostril  (piivered  with  a  fine 
disdain.  "  The  hospitality  of  Beaumanoir  is  as  broad  and 
comprehensive  as  its  master's  admiration  for  our  sex  !  " 
said  she. 

Bigot   was  not  angry.     He   gave   a  loud  laugh  :  '*  You 

12 


T 


:■ 


;•  111 

ill! 


\m 


I 

k 

■■:;r 


iii^ 


I 


178 


7//y^  CfflKX  D'OR. 


women  are  merciless  upon    each  other,  Mademoiselle ! 
said  he. 

"  Men  are  more  merciless  to  women,  when  they  beguile 
lis  with  insincere  professions"  replied  she  rising  up  in  well 
affected  indi^^nation. 

"  Not  so,  Mademoiselle  !  "  Bigjot  bejj;an  to  feel  annoyed. 
That  lady  is  nothing  to  me,"  said  he,  without  rising  as  she 
had  done.      Me  kept  his  seat. 

"  ]-ut  she  has  been  !  you  have  loved  her  at  some  time  or 
other!  and  she  is  now  living  on  the  scraps  and  leavings  of 
former  affection.  I  amneverdeceived.  Chevalier  !  "  continu- 
ed she,  glancing  down  at  him,  a  wild  light  playing  under  her 
Jong  eye-lashes,  like  the  illinnined  under  edge  of  a  thunder- 
cloud. 

"  But  how  in  St.  Picot's  name  did  you  arrive  at  all  this 
knowledge,  Mademoiselle  ?"  ])igot  began  to  see  that  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  coinj)ly  with  every  caprice  of  this 
incomprehensible  girl  if  he  would  carry  his  point. 

"  Oh  nothing  is  easier  than  for  a  woman  to  divine  the 
truth  in  such  matters.  Chevalier  "  said  she  "  It  is  a  sixth 
sense  given  to  our  sex,  to  protect  our  weakness  ;  no  man 
can  make  love  to  two  women,  but  each  of  them  knows 
instinctively  to  her  fingertips  that  he  is  doing  it." 

''  Surely  woman  is  a  beautiful  book  written  ir»  golden 
letters,  but  in  a  tongue  as  hard  tounderstand  as  hieroglyphics 
of  Egypt."  Bigot  was  quite  puzzled  how  to  proceed  with 
this  incomprehensible  girl. 

"  Thanks  fur  the  comparison,  Chevalier,"  replied  she, 
with  a  laugh.  "  It  would  not  do  for  men  to  scrutinize  us  too 
closely,  yet  one  woman  reads  another  easjly  as  a  horn  book 
of  Troyes,  Vvhich  they  say  is  so  easy  that  the  children  read 
it  without  Ii'arning." 

To  boldly  set  at  defiance  a  man  who  had  boasted  a  long 
career  of  success  was  the  way  to  rouse  his  pride,  and  determine 
him  to  overcome  her  resistance.  Angi'lique  was  not  mis- 
taken. Bigot  saw  her  resolution  and  although  it  was  Avith  a 
mental  resen'ation  to  deceive  her,  he  promised  to  banish 
Caroline  from  his  chateau. 

"  It  was  always  my  good  fortune  to  be  conquered  in  every 
passage  of  arms  withyoursex,  Angelique,"  said  he,  at  once 
radiant  and  submissive,  "  Sit  down  by  me  in  token  of 
amity." 

"  She  complied  without  hesitation  and  sat  down  by  him, 


SPLENDIDE  M END  AX- 


179 


jjave  him  her  hand  aujain  and  replied  with  an  arch  smile 
while  a  thousand  inimitable  C(ic|uetrie.s  played  about  her 
eves  and  lips  "you  speak  now  like  an  Amant  Ma^nifiqiiey 
Chevalier!" 


Jne 
lis- 
li  a 


;ry 

ice 

o! 


"  Qiicl(|uc  fort  ((n'on  s'en  defcnde, 
II  y  faiit  v<jnir  un  jour  I 

"  It  is  a  barojain  henceforth  and  for  ever!  Anj^rlique  !  " 
said  he**  but  I  am  a  harder  man  than  vou  imiirine.  I 
give  ntjthino  for  nothing,  and  all  for  every  thing.  Will 
you  consent  to  aid  me  and  the  Grand  Company  in  a  matter 
of  importance  '.  " 

"  Will  I  not  ?  What  a  question,  Chevalier  !  most  willingly 
I  will  aid  you  in  anythi-.ig  proper  for  a  lady  to  do  !  "added 
she,  with  a  touch  of  irony. 

*'  I  wish  you  to  do  it  right  or  wrong,  proper  or  imi)roper, 
although  there  is  no  imj:)rojDriety  in  it.  Improper  becomes 
proper  if  you  do  it.  Mademoiselle  !  " 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  Chexalier  ?  this  fearful  test  to  prove  my 
loyalty  to  the  Grand  Company,? — and  which  makes  you 
such  a  matchless  flatterer  ?  " 

*'  Just  this,  Angelic|ue  !  "  replied  he.  *' '^''ou  have  much 
influence  with  the  Seigneur  de  Kepentigny  ?  " 

Angc'lique  colored  up  to  the  eyes.  "  With  Le  Gardeur ! 
What  of  him  ?  I  can  take  no  part  against  the  Seigneur  de 
Repentigny .''  "  said  she  hastily. 

"  Atrainst  him.-*  For  him  I  We  fear  much  that  he  is  about 
to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  ho/uit'/cs ^cns.  You  can  prevent 
it  if  you  will,  Angc'lique  .''  " 

"  I  have  an  honest  regard  for  the  Seigneur  de  Repen- 
tigny ! "  said  she,  more  in  answer  to  her  own  feelings  than 
to  the  Intendants  remark  ;  her  cheek  flushed,  her  fingtirs 
twitched  nervously  at  her  fan,  which  she  broke  in  her 
agitation  and  threw  the  pieces  vehemently  upon  the  ground. 
"  I  have  done  harm  enough  to  Le  Gardeur,  I  fear,"  con- 
tinued she.  "  I  had  better  not  interfere  with  him  anv  more! 
Who  knows  what  might  result  1  "  she  looked  up  aluKxst  war- 
ningly  at  the  Intendant. 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  you  so  sincere  a  friend  to  Le  Gar- 
deur," remarked  Bigot,  craftily.  "  Vou  will  be  glad  to 
learn  that  our  intention  is  to  elevate  him  to  a  high  and 
lucrative  office  in  the  administration  of  the  Company,  un- 


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less  tilt:  Honuct:s  Gens  are  before  us  in  gaining  full  posses- 
sion of  him." 

"They  shall  lot  be  before  us  if  I  can  pre\ent  it, 
Chevalier,"  replieti  she,  warmly.  She  was  indeed  grateful 
for  the  implied  compliment  to  Le  Gardeur.  "  No  one  will 
be  better  pleased  at  his  good  fortune  than  myself." 

"  I  thought  so.  It  was  jDartly  my  business  to  tell  you  of 
our  intentions  towards  Le  (jardeur." 

"  Indeed  ! "  re])lied  she,  in  a  tone  of  pique.  "  I  flattered 
myself  your  visit  was  all  on  my  own  account,  Chevalier." 

"  So  it  was."  l>igot  felt  himself  on  rather  soft  ground. 
"Your  brotiier,  the  Chevalier  des  Meloises  has  doubtless 
consulted  you  upon  the  plan  of  life  he  has  sketched  out  for 
both  of  vou  ?  " 

"  My  good  brother  sketches  so  many  plans  of  life  that 
I  really  am  not  certain  1  know  the  one  you  refer  to." 
She  guessed  what  was  coming,  and  held  her  breath  hard 
until  she  heard  the  reply. 

"  Well,  you  of  course  know  that  his  plan  of  life  depends 
mainly  upon  an  alliance  between  yourself  and  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Reiientigny." 

She  gave  vent  to  her  anger  and  disappointment.  She 
rose  up  suddenly,  and,  grasping  the  Intendant's  arm 
fiercely,  turned  him  half  round  in  her  vehemence.  "  Chev- 
alier Bigot  !  did  you  come  here  to  propose  for  me  on 
behalf  of  Le  Gardeur  de  Repeiitigny  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me,  Mademoiselle  ;  it  is  no  proposal  of  mine, 
— on  behalf  of  Le  Gardeur.  1  sanctioned  his  promotion. 
Your  brotiier.  and  the  Grand  Company  generally,  would 
prefer  the  alliance.  I  flon't  !  "  He  said  this  with  a  tone 
of  meaning  which  Angi'lique  was  acute  enough  to  see  im- 
plied Digot's  unwillingness  to  her  marrying  any  man — but 
himself — was  the  aiiiicuiiuni  she  at  once  placed  to  his 
credit.  "  I  regret  I  mentioned  it,"  continued  he,  blandly, 
"if  it  be  contrary  to  your  wishes." 

"It  is  contrary  to  my  wishes,"  replied  she,  relaxing  her 
clutcli  of  his  arm.  "  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  can  speak 
tor  himself.  I  will  not  allow  even  my  brother  to  >uggest 
it,  still  less  will  I  discuss  such  a  subject  with  the  Chevalier 
Bigot." 

"  1  hope  you  will  pardon  me,  Mademoiselle — T  will  not 
call  you  Angrlique  until  you  are  pleased  widi  me  again. 
To  be  sure,  1  should  never  have  forgiven  you  had  you  con- 


.« 


SPLENDIDE  MEA'DAX. 


i8i 


^ 


formed  to  your  brother's  wishes.  Tt  was  what  I  feared 
might  happen,  and  I — I  wished  to  try  you ;  that  was 
all"!  " 

"  It  is  dangerous  trying  me,  C'hevalier,"  replied  she, 
resuming  her  seat  with  some  heat.  "  Don't  try  me  again, 
or  I  shall  take  Le  Gardeur  out  of  pure  spited  she  said. 
Pure  love  was  in  her  mind,  but  the  other  word  came  from 
her  lij:)s.  "  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  rescue  him  from  the 
Honndt's  Gens,  but  not  by  marrying  him.  Chevalier — at 
present." 

They  seemed  to  understand  each  other  fully.  "  It  is  ovei 
with  now,"  said  Bigot.  "  I  swear  to  you,  Angelique,  I  did 
not  mean  to  offend  you.     You  cut  deep." 

'•  Pshaw  !  "  retorted  she,  smiling.  "Wounds  by  a  lady 
are  easily  cured.  They  seldom  leave  a  mark  behind,  a 
month  after." 

"  I  don't  know  that.  The  slight  repulse  of  a  lady's 
finger — a  touch  that  would  not  crush  a  <rnat — will  some- 
times  kill  a  strong  man  like  a  sword-stroke.  1  have  known 
such  things  to  hapi)en,"  said  Pigot. 

"Well,  happily,  my  <ouch  has  not  hurt  you,  Chevalier. 
But,  having  vindicated  myself.  I  feci  I  owe  you  repara- 
tion. You  speak  of  rescuing  Le  (iardcur  from  the  Jlon- 
netes  Gens.     In  what  way  can  I  aid  you  ?" 

"  In  many  ways  and  all  ways.  Withdraw  him  from 
them.  The  great  festival  at  the  Philiberts, — when  is  it 
to  be  .?  " 

"  To-morrow  !  See,  they  have  honored  me  with  a  special 
invitation."  She  drew  a  note  from  her  i)ocket.  "  This  is 
very  jDolite  of  Colonel  Philibert,  is  it  not?  "  said  she. 

Pigot  glanced  superciliousl)'  at  the  note.  "  Do  you  mean 
to  go,  Angeliciue  ?''  asked  he. 

"  No  ;  although  had  I  no  feelings  but  my  own  to  con- 
sult, I  would  certainly  go." 

"  Whose  feelings  do  you  consult,  Angelique,"  asked  the 
Intendant,  ''if  not  your  own?" 

"Oh,  don't  be  flattered  ! — the  Grand  Company's.  I  am 
loyal  to  the  association  without  respect  to  persons." 

"  So  much  better,"  said  he.  "  \W  the  way,  it  would  not 
be  amiss  to  keep  Le  Gardeur  away  from  the  festival. 
These  Philiberts  and  the  heads  of  the  J/onncUs  Gens  have 
great  sway  over  him." 

"  Naturally  ;  they  are  all  his  own  kith  and  kin.     But  I 


7S^: 


1 


182 


T///i  CHI  EN  lyOR. 


n 


■■■ 

i- 

P  ';■■ 
S'-fi-  ?• 


will  draw  him  away,  if  you  desire  it.  I  cannot  prevent  his 
goin<j,  but  I  can  find  means  to  prevent  his  staying  !  "  added 
ishe,  with  a  smile  of  confidence  in  her  power. 

"That  will  do,  Angelique ;  anything  to  make  a  breach 
between  them." 

While  there  were  abysses  in  Bigot's  niind  which  Angel- 
ique  c  uld  not  fathom,  as  little  did  IJigot  suspect  that 
when  Ang('lique  seemed  to   Hatter  liim    by  yielding  to  his 


suggestions 


sne   was     following    out    a   course    she    had 


already  decided  upon  in  her  own  mind,  from  the  moment 
she  had  learned  that  Cecile  Tourangeau  was  to  be  at  the 
festival  of  IJelmont.  with  unlimited  op|3ortunities  of  ex- 
planation with  Le  (laiclcur  as  to  her  treatment  by  An- 
gel ique. 

The  Intendant,  after  some  pleasant  badinage,  rose  and 
took  his  de|3arturc,  leaving  Angc'lique  agitati'd,  puzzled, 
and  dissatisfied,  on  the  whole,  with  his  \isit.  She  reclined 
on  the  seat,  resting  her  head  on  her  hand,  for  a  long  time 
— in  ajjpearance,  the  idlest — in  reality,  the  busiest  brain  of 
any  girl  in  the  city  of  Quebec.  She  felt  she  had  much  to 
do — a  great  sacrifice  to  make — but  firmly  resolved,  at 
whatever  cost,  to  go  through  with  it  ;  for,  after  all,  the  sac- 
rifice was  for  herself,  and  not  f  >r  others  ! 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THE  MEROVINGIAN  PRINCESS. 


TnK  interior  of  the  Cathedral  of  St.  Marie  seemed  like 
'another  world,  in  comparison  with  the  noisy,  bustling 
Market  IMace  in  front  of  it. 

'I'he  garish  sunshine  ])oured  hot  and  oppressive  in  the 
square  outside,  l)ul  was  shorn  of  its  strength  as  it  ])assed 
through  the  painted  windows  of  the  cathedral,  tilling  the 
vast  interior  with  a  cool,  dim,  religious  light,  broken  by 
tall  shafts  of  cohunns,  which  swelled  out  into  ornate  capitals, 
supporting  a  lofty  ceiling,  on  which  was  painted  the 
open  heaxens  with  saints  and  angels  adoring  the  Lord. 

A  lofty  arch  of  cunning  work,  overlaid  with  gold,  the 


THE  MEROVINGIAN  PRINCESS, 


183 


.^ 


masterpiece  of  Le  Vasseur,  spanned  the  chancel,  like  the 
rainbow  round  tlie  tiirone.  Li^jhts  wdc  burninoj  on  the 
altar,  incense  went  up  in  spirals  to  the  roof  ;  and  throu<;h 
the  waverini::  cloud  the  saints  and  angels  seemed  to  look 
down  with  living  faces  upon  the  crowd  of  worshipjiers  who 
knelt  upon  the  broad  lloor  of  the  church. 

It  was  the  hour  of  vespers.  The  voice  of  the  priest 
was  answered  by  the  deep  peal  of  the  or^an  and  the  chant- 
ing of  the  choir.  The  vast  edilice  was  tilled  with  harmony, 
in  the  pauses  of  which  the  ear  seemed  to  catch  the  sound 
of  the  river  of  life,  as  it  flows  out  of  the  throne  of  God  and 
the  Lamb. 

The  demeanor  of  the  crowd  of  worshippers  was  quiet 
and  reverential.  A  few  gay  groups,  however,  whose 
occupation  was  mainly  to  see  and  be  seen,  exchanged  the 
idle  gossip  of  the  day  with  such  of  their  friends  as  they 
met  there.  The  fee  of  a  prayer  or  two  did  not  seem  ex- 
cessi\e  for  the  j^leasure,  and  it  was  soon  ]3aid. 

The  Terro  1  outside  was  a  favorite  resort  of  the  gallants 
of  fashion  at  the  hour  of  vespers,  whose  practice  it  was  to 
salute  the  ladies  of  their  acquaintance  at  the  door  by 
sprinkling  their  dainty  fingers  with  holy  water.  Religion, 
combined  with  gallantry,  is  a  form  of  devolioi.  not  cpiite 
obsolete  at  the  jDresent  day,  and  at  the  same  place. 

The  church  door  was  the  recognized  sjDot  for  meeting, 
gossip,  business,  love-making,  and  announcements  ;  old 
friends  stO]iped  to  talk  over  the  news,  merchants  their 
commercial  |.)rospects.  It  was  at  once  the  Bourse  and  the 
Royal  Ivvchange  of  (Quebec.  There  were  promulgated  by 
the  brazen  limgs  of  the  city  crier — royal  proclamations  of 
the  Governor,  edicts  of  the  Intendant,  orders  of  the  Court 
of  Justice,  vendues  public  and  private.  In  short,  the  life 
and  stir  of  the  city  of  (Quebec  seemed  to  How  about  the 
door  of  St.  Marie  as  the  blood  through  the  heart  of  a 
healthy  man. 

A  few  old  trees,  relics  of  the  jirimeval  forest,  had  been 
left  for  shade  and  ornament  in  the  great  market  jilace.  A 
little  rivulet  of  clear  water  ran  sparkling  down  the  slope 
of  the  square,  where  every  day  the  shadow  of  the  cross 
of  the  tall  steeple  lay  over  it  like  a  benediction. 

A  couple  of  young  men,  fashionably  dressed,  loitered 
this  afternoon  near  the  great  door  of  the  Convent  in  the 
narrow  street  that  runs  into  the  great  square  of  the  market. 


i:'     - 


,1 


!it 


iit 


nh 

Hi. 

lit 

mi! 


184 


T//E  CniEN  D'OR. 


They  wnlkcd  about  with  sliort  impatient  turns,  occasionally 
gianciuLC  at  tin;  clock  of  the  Recollets,  visible  through  the 
tall  elms  that  bounded  the  garden  of  the  Grey  Friars.  Pre- 
sently the  door  of  the  C-onvent  opened.  Half  a  dozen 
gaily-attired  young  ladies,  internes  or  puj^ils  of  the  convent, 
sallied  out.  They  had  exchanged  their  conventual  dress 
for  their  usual  outside  altire,  and  got  leave  to  go  out  into 
the  world,  on  some  errand,  real  or  pretended,  for  one  hour 
and  w<^  more. 

Tli'jy  tripped  lightly  down  the  broad  steps,  and  were 
inrtanil)  joined  by  the  young  men  who  had  been  waiting 
for  them.  After  a  hasty,  merry  hand-shaking,  the  whole 
party  proceeded  in  great  glee  towards  the  Alarket  Place, 
where  the  shops  of  the  mercers  and  confectioners  offered 
the  attractions  they  sought.  They  went  on  purchasing 
bon-bons  and  ribbons  from  one  shop  to  another,  imtil  they 
reached  the  Cathedral,  when  a  common  impulse  seized 
them  to  see  who  was  there.  They  tiew  up  the  steps  and 
disaii|)eared  in  the  church. 

In  the  midst  of  their  devotions,  as  they  knelt  upon  the 
floor,  the  sharp  eyes  of  the  young  ladies  were  caught  by 
gesticulations  of  the  well-gloved  hand  of  the  Chevalier  des 
Meloises,  as  he  saluted  them  across  the  aisle. 

The  hurried  recitation  of  an  Ave  or  two  had  quite  satis- 
fied the  devotion  of  the  Chevalier,  and  he  looked  round 
the  church  with  an  air  of  condescension,  criticizing  the 
music  and  peering  into  the  faces  of  such  of  the  ladies  as 
looked  u|),  and  many  did  so,  to  return  his  scrutiny, 

'I'he  young  ladies  encountered  him  in  the  aisle  as  they 
left  the  church  before  the  service  was  finished.  It  had 
long  since  been  finished  iox  him,  and  was  finished  for  the 
young  ladies  also,  when  they  had  satisfied  their  curiosity  to 
see  who  was  there  and  who  with  whom. 

"  We  cannot  pray  for  you  any  longer.  Chevalier  des 
Meloises !  "  said  one  of  the  gayest  of  the  group  ;  "  the 
Lady  Superior  has  economically  granted  us  but  one  hour 
in  the  city  to  make  our  purchases  and  attend  vespers.  Out 
of  that  hour  we  can  only  steal  forty  minutes  for  a  promen- 
ade through  the  city,  so  good  bye,  if  you  prefer  the  church 
to  our  company,  or  come  with  us  and  you  shall  escort  two 
of  us.  You  see  we  have  only  a  couple  of  gentlemen  to  six 
ladies." 

"  I  much  prefer  your  company,  Mademoiselle  de  Broua- 


THE  MEROVINGIAN  PRINCESS. 


185 


gue  !  "  replied  lie  jijalhintly,  forf;jetting  the  important  nieet- 
infij  of  the  niaiKi;^eis  of  the  CiiMiul  (!ompany  at  the  Palace. 
The  business,  however,  was  bein<i^  cleverly  transacted  with- 
out his  help. 

Louise  (le  IJrouaj^ue  had  no  great  esteem  for  the  Chev- 
alier des  Meloises,  but,  as  she  remarked  to  a  companion, 
he  made  rather  a  neat  walking  stick,  if  a  young  lady  could 
procure  no  better,  to  promenade  with. 

*'\Ve  come  out  in  full  force  to-day.  Chevalier,"  said  she, 
with  a  merry  glance  round  the  group  of  lively  girls.  "  A 
glorious  sample  of  the  famous  class  (;f  the  Louises,  are  we 
not } " 

"Glorious!  superb!  incomparable!"'  the  Chevalier  re- 
plied, as  lie  inspected  them  archly  through  his  glass.  "  But 
how  did  vou  mana<je  to  wt  out.''  One  Louise  at  a  time  is 
enough  to  storm  the  city,  but  six  of  them  at  once  !  The 
Ladv  Superior  is  full  of  mercy  to-day." 

"Oh!  is  she?  listen!  We  should  not  have  got  permis- 
sion to  come  out  to-day  had  we  not  first  laid  siege  to  the 
soft  heart  of  Mere  des  Serajjliins.  Siie  it  was  who  inter- 
ceded f  'r  us.  and  lo  !  here  we  are  ready  for  any  adventure 
that  mav  befall  errant  demoiselles  in  the  streets  of  (Que- 
bec !  " 

Well  might  the  fair  Louise  de  IJrouague  boast  of  the 
famous  class  of  "the  Louises,"  all  composed  of  young  la- 
dies of  that  name,  distinguished  for  beauty,  rank,  and 
fashion  in  the  world  of  New  France. 

Prominent  among  them  at  that  period  was  the  beautiful, 
gay  Louise  de  IJrouague.  In  the  full  maturity  of  her 
charms  as  the  wife  of  the  Chevalier  de  Lery,  she  accom- 
panied her  husband  to  England  after  the  cession  of  Canada, 
and  went  to  C<jurt  to  pay  homage  to  their  new  sovereign, 
George  IIL,  when  the  young  king,  struck  with  her  grace 
and  beauty,  gallantly  exclaimed  : 

"  If  the  ladies  of  Canada  are  as  handsome  as  you,  I  have 
indeed  made  a  conquest !  " 

To  escort  young  ladies,  infrrncs  of  the  Convent,  when 
granted  permission  to  go  out  into  the  city,  was  a  favorite 
pastime,  truly  a  labor  of  love  of  the  young  gallants  of  that 
day.  An  occupation,  if  very  idle,  at  least  very  agree- 
able to  those  participating  in  these  stolen  promenades,  and 
which  have  not,  perhaps,  been  altogether  discontinued  in 
Quebec  even  to  the  present  day  ! 


f 


:?) 


Hi; 


i86 


T//E  CHI  END' OR. 


I 


The  jiidiis  mills  were,  of  course,  entireU'  ij^jnorant  of  the 
contrivances  of  their  fair  pupils  to  amuse  themselves  in  the 
city.  At  any  rate,  they  ^ood-naturedly  overlooked  things 
they  could  not  quite  prevent.  They  had  human  hearts 
still  under  their  snowy  wimples,  and  perha|DS(lid  not  wholly 
lack  womanly  sympathy  with  the  tlear  j^irls  in  their  char<:;e. 
''  Why  are  you  not  at  Uelmont  to-day,  Chevalier  des 
Meloises.^  "  boldly  asked  Louise  Roy,  a  fearless  little  ques- 
tioner, in  a  <j;ay  sunnner  robe.  She  was  p'-etty,  and  si)rightly 
as  Titania.  Her  long  chestnut  hair  was  the  marvel  and 
boast  of  tlie  convent,  and,  what  she  prized  more,  the  ad- 
miration of  the  citv.  It  covered  her  like  a  veil  down  to  her 
knees,  when  she  chose  to  let  it  down  in  a  flood  of  splendor. 
Her  deej)  grey  eyes  contained  wells  of  womanly  wisdom. 
Her  skin,  fair  as  a  lily  of  Artois,  had  borrowed  from  the 
sun  five  or  six  faint  freckles  just  to  prove  the  purity  of  her 
blood  and  distract  the  eye  with  a  variety  of  charms.  The 
Merovingian  Princess,  the  long-haired  daughter  of  kings,  as 
she  was  fondly  styled  by  the  nuns,  queened  it  wherever  she 
went  1)\'  right  divine  of  youth,  wit  and  beauty. 

"  1  should  not  have  had  the  felicity  of  meeting  you, 
Mademoiselle  Roy,  had  I  gone  to  Belmont,"  replied  the 
Chevalier,  not  liking  the  question  at  all.  "  I  preferred  not 
to  go." 

"  Vou  are  always  so  polite  and  complimentary,"  re- 
plied she,  a  trace  of  pout  visible  on  her  pretty  lips.  "I  do 
not  see  how  any  one  could  stay  away  who  was  at  liberty  to 
go  to  Belmont  !  And  the  whole  city  has  gone  I  am  sure  ! 
for  I  see  nobody  in  the  street !  " — She  held  an  eye-glass 
coquettishly  to  her  eye.  "Nobody  at  all !  "  repeated  she. 
Her  companions  accused  her  afterwards  of  glancing  equiv- 
ocally at  the  Chevalier  as  she  made  this  remark  ;  and  she 
answered  with  a  merry  laugh,  that  might  imply  either  as- 
sent or  denial. 

*'  Had  you  heard  in  the  Convent  of  the  festival  at  Bel- 
mont. Mademoiselle  Roy .''  "  asked  he,  twirling  his  cane 
rather  maiesticallv. 

"  We  ha\e  heard  of  nothing  else,  and  talked  of  nothing 
else,  for  a  whole  week!"  replied  she.  "Our  mistresses 
have  been  in  a  state  of  distraction  trying  to  stop  our  inces- 
sant whispering  in  the  school,  instead  of  minding  our  les- 
sons like  good  gills,  trying  to  earn  good  conduct  marks ! 
The  feast,  the  ball,  the  dresses,  the  company,  beat  learn- 


THE  MEROVIXGIAN  PR  IXC  ESS. 


187 


ing[  out  of  our  heads  and  hearts!  only  fancy  !  Chevalier  !  " 
she  went  on  in  her  vohihlc  manner.  "  Louise  de  Beaujeu 
here  was  asked  to  <^ive  tlie  Latin  name  for  heaven,  and 
she  at  once  transhited  it  I'ehnont !  " 

"Tell  no  school  tales,  .\hukmoiselle  Roy !"  retorted 
Louise  de  Ueaujeu,  her  black  eyes  Hashing  with  merri- 
ment. "It  was  a  jj^ood  translation  !  but  who  was  it  stum- 
bled in  the  (}reek  class,  when  asked  for  the  proper  name 
of  the  Anax  Andron,  the  Vwv^  of  men  in  the  Iliad?" 
Louise  Roy  looked  archly  and  said  defiantly;  "Go  on  !" 
"Would  you  believe  it.  Chevalier,  she  replied — Pierre 
Philibert!  Mere  Christine  fairly  gasped,  but  Louise  had 
to  kiss  the  floor  as  a  jienance  fcjr  pronouncing  a  gentle- 
man's name  with  such  unction," 

"  And  if  I  did,  I  paid  my  penance  heartily  and  loudly, 
as  you  may  recollect,  Louise  de  Beaujeu,  although  I  con- 
fess I  would  have  preferred  kissing  Pierre  Philibert  himself 
if  I  had  had  mv  choice  !  " 

"  Always  her  way  !  won't  give  in  !  never  !  Louise  Roy 
stands  by  her  translation  in  spite  of  all  the  Greek  Lexicons 
in   the   Convent !  "  exclaimed    Louise   de  lirouague. 

"And  so  I  do,  anrl  will,  and  Pierre  Philibert  is  the 
king  of  men,  in  New  France  or  old  !  ask  Anielie  de  Re- 
pentigny !  "  added  she,  in  a  half  whisper  to  her  com- 
panion. 

"O  she  will  swear  to  it  any  day!  "  was  the  saucy  re- 
ply of  Louise  de  Ihouague.  "  But  witiiout  whispering  it, 
Chevalier  des  Meloises  !"  continued  she,  "  the  classes  in 
the  Convent  have  all  gone  wild  in  his  favor  since  they 
learned  he  was  in  love  with  one  of  our  late  comj^anions  in 
school.  He  is  the  Prince  Camaralzaman  of  our  fairy 
tales." 

"Who  is  that?"  The  Chevalier  spoke  tartly  rather. 
He  was  excessively  annoyed  at  all  this  enthusiasm  in  be- 
half of  Pierre  Philibert. 

"  Nav,  I  will  tell  no  more  fairv  tales  out  of  school,  but 
I  assure  you  if  our  wishes  had  wings  the  whole  class  of 
Louises  would  fly  away  to  Belmont,  to-day  like  a  flock  of 
ring  doves," 

Louise  de  Brouague  noticed  the  pique  of  the  Chevalier, 
at  the  mention  of  Philibert,  but  in  that  spirit  of  petty  tor- 
ment with  which  her  sex  avenges  snuill  slights,  she  con- 
tinued to  irritate  the  vanity  of  the  Chevalier,  whom  in  her 
heart  she  despised. 


t 


I! 


Ji     ,  , 

"  ill 


i 


I 
I   . 

i  1 


i.|i 


F-r^  - 


i88 


77/A  CHfEN  D'OR. 


His  politeness  jienrly  cave  wny.  He  was  thnroun;lily 
disfjustcil  with  all  this  huish  |)iaisc  of  PhililxTt.  He  sud- 
detily  recollected  that  he  had  an  appointment  at  the 
Palace,  wiiich  would  i)ie\ent  him,  he  said,  enjoyin<T  the 
full  hour  of  absence  granted  to  the  (ireek  class  of  the 
Ursuli.;cs. 

"  Mademoiselle  An<^elique  has  of  course  gone  to  Bel- 
mont, if  pressing  engagements  prevent  you,  Chevalier," 
said  Louise  Roy.  "  How  provoking  it  must  be  to  have 
business  to  look  after  when  one  wants  to  enjoy  life  ! '' 
The  (Mievalier  half  spun  round  on  his  heel  under  the  quiz- 
zing of  Louise's  eye  glass. 

"  No,  Angelique  has  not  gone  to  Belmont,"  replied  he, 
qr.ite  picjued.  "She  very  j^rojx'rly  declined  <o  mingle 
with  the  Messieurs  and  Mesdames  jourdains,  who  consort 
witii  the  Bourgeois  lMiilii)ert!  She  was  preparing  for  a 
ride,  and  the  city  really  seems  all  the  gayer  by  the  absence 
of  so  many  common  place  people  as  have  gone  out  to  Bel- 
mont." 

Louise  de  Brouague's  eyes  gave  a  few  fiashes  of  indig- 
nation. "  I'ie  !  (Mievalier,  that  was  naugiitily  said  of  you 
about  the  good  JJourgeois  and  his  friends,"  exclaimed  she, 
imiM'tuously.  "  Wiiy  the  (lovernor,  the  Lady  de  Tilly 
and  her  niece,  the  Chevalier  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  Hortense 
and  Claude  Beauharnois  and  1  know  not  how  many  more 
of  the  verv  elite  of  societv  have  jrone  to  do  honor  to 
Colonel  Bhilibert !  And  as  for  the  girls  in  the  Convent, 
who  you  will  allow  are  the  most  imjiortint  and  most  select 
portion  of  the  community,  there  is  not  one  of  us  but 
would  willingly  jump  out  of  the  window,  and  do  penance 
on  dry  bread  and  salt  fish  for  a  month,  just  for  one  hour's 
pleasure  at  the  ball  this  evening,  would  we  not,  Louises.''" 

Not  a  TvOuise  present  but  assented  with  an  emphasis, 
that  brought  SN'mpatiietic  smiles  upon  the  faces  of  the  two 
young  Chevaliers,  who  had  watched  all  this  pretty  play. 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  bowed  very  low.  "  I  re- 
gret so  much,  ladies,  to  ha\  e  to  leave  you !  but  affairs  of 
State  you  know  ! — affairs  of  State  !  The  Intendant  will 
not  proceed  without  a  full  board,  I  must  attend  the  meet- 
ing to-day  at  the  Palace." 

"Oh,  assuredly.  Chevalier,"  replied  Louise  Roy. 
"What  would  become  of  the  nation,  what  would  become 
of  the  world,  nay,  what  would  become  of  the   Internes  of 


THE  MF.ROVIXGIAX  PR/XCESS. 


189 


the  Ursulincs,  if  slati'Sincii  and  warriors  and  philosophers 
like  you  and  the  Sicurs  Drouillon  and  La  I'orce  here, 
(this  in  a  ]xircnlhcsis,  not  to  scratch  the  CMiovalicr  too 
deep),  did  not  take  wise  counsel  for  our  safety,  and  happi- 
ness and  also  for  the  welfare  of  th(^  nation  ?  " 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  took  his  departure  under 
this  shower  of  arrows. 

The  youn<^  La  Force  was  as  yet  only  an  idle  dan:j;ler 
about  the  city  ;  but  in  the  course  of  time  became  a  man  of 
wit  and  energy  worth}'  of  his  nan.e.      He  replied  ^.lily  : — 

"'I'hanks,  ^Lideinoiselle  Roy!  It  is  just  for  sake  of 
the  fair  internes  of  the  Convent  that  Drcniillon  and  I,  have 
taken  up  the  vocation  of  statesmen,  warriors,  j)hiloso- 
phers,  and  friends.  We  are  quite  ready  to  ^uide  your  in- 
nocent footsteps  through  the  streets  of  this  i)erilous  city, 
if  you  are  ready  to  go." 

"  We  had  better  hasten,  too  !  "  ejaculated  Louise  Roy, 
looking  archly  through  her  eye  glass.  "  I  can  see  Hon- 
homme  Michel  peeping  round  the  corner  of  the  Cote  de 
Lery !  He  is  looking  after  us  stray  lambs  of  the  flock, 
Sieur  Drouillon  1  " 

Bonhomme  Michel  was  the  old  watchman  and  Facto 
turn  of  the  Monastery.  He  had  a  general  commission  to 
keep  a  sharj)  eye  upon  the  young  ladies,  who  were  allowed 
to  go  out  into  the  city.  A  pair  of  horn  spectacles  usually 
helped  his  vision,  sometimes  marred  it,  however  I  when 
the  knowing  gallants  sliii|)e(!  a  crown  into  his  hand,  to  put 
in  the  place  of  his  magnihers.  bonhomme  Michel,  placed 
all  his  propitiation  money, — he  liked  a  pious  word, — in  his 
old  leathern  sack  which  contained  the  redemption  of  many 
a  gadding  promenade  through  the  streets  of  (Quebec. 
Wliether  he  reported  what  he  saw  this  time  is  not  re- 
corded in  the  llcux  Kccit,  the  old  annals  of  the  C'onvent. 
But  as  Louise  Roy  called  him  her  dear  old  Cupid  !  and 
knew  so  well  how  to  bandage  his  eyes,  it  is  probable  the 
good  nuns  were  not  informed  of  the  pleasant  meeting  of 
the  Class  Louises  and  the  gentlemen  who  escorted  them 
round  the  city  on  the  j^resent  occasion. 

Poor  Michel  Bonhomme!  'I'his  history  would  be  incom- 
plete unless  it  recorded  his  death  at  a  most  patriarchal 
old  age  in  the  monastery,  when  to  ease  his  good  old  soul 
at  last,  he  piously  becjueathed  his  leathern  sack,  filled  with 
coins  of  every  stamp  paid  him  in  propitiation  of  so  many 


IQO 


THE  CIIlEiV  nOR. 


hundred  sweet  stolen  pronienades  of  lIi',  lively   internes  oi 
the  Convent. 

The  Nuns  were  not  inexorable,  when  he  died  confessing 
his  faults.  'I'hey  received  his  l)e(|uest,  |)ar(i()ned  his  occa- 
sionalblindness  and  jj^ood  nature,  had  masses  saiil  yearly 
for  his  <;()()d  old  soul,  loni;,  l()ii<ij  after  the  memory  of  his 
honest  lireton  face  had  been  forgotten  by  the  new  genera- 
tions of  city  gallants  and  internes  that  followed  in  the 
city  of  Quebec. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


PUT    MONEY    IN    THY    PURSE. 


^ 

w- 


The  Chevalier  des  Moloiscs.  quite  out  of  humor  with 
the  merry  Louises,  picki'd  his  way  with  quick,  dainty  stt-ps 
down  the  Rue  du  Palais.  'I'he  gay  Loirises  before  re- 
turning to  the  Convent,  resolved  to  make  a  hasty  j)romen- 
ade  to  the  walls  to  see  the  people  at  work  upon  them. 
They  recei\ed  with  great  contentment  the  militarv  salutes  of 
the  olTicers  of  their  actiuaintance  which  they  acknowledged 
w  ith  the  courtesy  of  well  trained  internes,  slightly  exaggerated 
by  provoking  smiles  and  mischievf)us  glances  which  had 
formed  no  p,Mt  of  the  lessons  in  politeness,  taught  them  by 
the  Nuns. 

In  justice  be  it  said,  however,  the  girls  were  actuated 
by  a  nobler  feeling  than  the  mere  spirit  of  amusement — a 
sentiment  of  loyalty  to  France,  a  warm  enthusiasm  for 
their  country  drew  them  to  the  walls,  'i'hey  wanted  to 
see  the  defenders  of  Quebec,  to  show  their  sympathy  and 
smile  approval  upon  them. 

"  Would  to  heaven  I  were  a  man  !  "  exclaimed  Louise 
de  Brouague,  "  that  I  might  wield  a  sword,  a  spade,  any- 
thing of  use,  to  serve  my  country !  I  shame  to  do  noth- 
ing l)ut  talk,  pray  and  suiter  for  it.  while  every  one  else  is 
working  or  fighting." 

Poor  girl  !  she  did  not  foresee  a  day  when  the  women 
of  New  France  would  undergo  trials  compared  with  which 
the  sword  stroke  that  kills  the  strong  man  is  as  the  touch 
of  mercy  ;  when  the  batteries  of  Wolfe  would  for  sixty-tive 


B"^ 


PUT  MONEY  Ii\  THY  PURSE, 


191 


days,  shower  shot  and  shell  upon  Quebec,  and  the  vSouth 
shore,  for  a  hundred  miles  l(>j;elher,  be  blazinj;  with  the 
fires  of  dc\aslati()n.  Such  thiu;;s  were  incrcifull)'  withheld 
from  their  foresii^h.:  and  tlie  li.Ljht  iiearted  ^iris  went  the 
round  of  the  works  as  gaily  as  they  wtnild  have  trippeil  in 
a  ball  room. 

'I'he  CMievalier  des  Meloises,  jDassinp^  throuj^h  the  Porte 
du  Palais,  was  hailed  by  two  or  three  youiii;  (ttlicrrs  of  the 
Re<;inient  oi  Jiearn  who  in\iled  him  into  the  (luard  House 
to  take  a  <^lass  of  wine  before  descending  the  steep  hill. 
The  Chevalier  stoj)ped  willingly,  and  entered  the  well 
furnished  (piarters  of  the  otlicers  of  the  guard  where  a  cool 
flask  of  Purirundv  i)resentlv  restored  him  to  gooil  hiunor 
with  himself,  and  consequently  with  the   world. 

"  What  is  u])  to-day  at  the  Palace  t  "  asked  Ca|)tain 
Monredin,  a  vivacious  Navarrois,"  ''all  the  Gros  Bounds 
of  the  (Jlrand  Company  hnve  gr)ne  down  this  afternoon  !  I 
suppose  you  are  g(jing  too,  Des  Meloises?  " 

"Yes!  They  have  sent  for  me  you  see  on  afTairs  of 
state  1  what  Penisault  calls  'business,'  not  a  drop  of  wine 
on  the  board  !  Nothing  but  books  and  papers,  bills  and 
shij^ments,  money  paid,  money  recei\ed  !  Doit  ct  tii'oir 
and  all  the  cursed  lingo  of  the  Friponne  !  I  damn  the 
Friponne,  but  bless  her  money  I  It  pays,  Monredin  !  It 
pays  better  than  fur  hading  nt  a  lonely  out-post  in  the 
northwest."  The  Chevalier  jingled  a  handful  of  coin  in 
his  pocket.  The  sound  was  a  sedati\e  to  his  disgust  at 
the  idea  of  trade,  and  quite  reconciled  him  to  the  Fri- 
ponne. 

"  You  arc  a  lucky  dog,  nevertheless,  to  be  able  to  make 
it  jingle  !  "  said  Monredin,  "  not  one  oF  us  I'earnois  can  play 
an  accompaniment  to  your  air  of  money  in  both  pockets." 
Here  is  our  famous  regiment  of  Beam,  second  to  none  in 
the  King's  service,  a  whole  year  in  arrear  with  our  pay  !  Gad  ! 
I  wish  I  could  go  into  '  business,'  as  you  call  it,  and  woo 
that  jolly  Dame,  La  Friponne  !  " 

"  For  six  months  we  have  lived  on  trust.  Those 
leeches  of  Jews,  who  call  themselves  Christians,  down  in 
the  Sault  an  Matelot, won't  cash  the  best  orders  in  the  regi- 
ment for  less  than  forty  per  cent,  discount !  " 

"That  is  true!  "  broke  in  another  officer,  whose  rather 
rubicund  face  told  of  credit  somewhere,  and  the  product 
of  credit,  good  wine  and  good  dinners  generally.  "  That  is 


•  ; 


il 


i 


Id 

m::n 


192 


T//£  cm  EN  D'OR. 


true,  Monredin  !  The  old  cunnndn^con  of  a  broker  at  the 
corner  of  the  C^il  de  Sac  had  the  impudence  to  ask  me 
fifty  per  cent,  discount  upon,  my  drafts  on  Hourdeaux  !  I 
agree  with  l)es  Meloises  there  ;  business  may  be  a  good 
thing  for  those  who  handle  it,  but  devil  touch  their  dirty 
fingers  for  me  ?" 

"Don't  condemn  all  of  them,  I'aiieric,"  said  Captain 
Poulariez,  a  quiet,  resolute-looking  officer.  "There  is  one 
merchant  in  the  city  who  carries  the  principles  of  a  gen- 
tleman into  the  usages  of  commerce.  'J'he  Jjourgeois 
Philibert  gives  cent,  per  cent,  for  good  orders  of  the 
king's  othcers,  just  to  show  his  sympathy  with  the  army 
and  his  love  for  France." 

"  Well,  I  wish  he  were  paymaster  of  the  forces,  that  is 
all,  and  then  I  could  go  to  him  if  I  wanted  to,  '  replied 
Monredin. 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  to  him  ?"  asked  Poulariez. 

"  Why,  for  the  same  reason,  I  suppose,  so  many  others 
of  us  do  not,"  replied  Monredin.  "Colonel  I )alquier  en- 
dorses mv  orders,  and  he  hates  the  Bourgeois  cordially, 
as  a  hot  friend  of  the  Intendant  oughi  to  do.  So,  you  see, 
I  have  to  submit  to  be  plucked  of  my  best  pen-feathers  by 
that  old  J'l'ssc  Mathicii^  Penisault,  at  the  Friponne  !  " 

"  How  many  of  yours  have  gone  out  to  the  great  spread 
at  Belmont  ?  "  asked  l)es  Meloises,  quite  weary  of  commer- 
cial topics. 

''' Piirdicu  !'''  replied  Monredin,  "  except  the  colonel 
and  adjutant,  who  stayed  away  on  principle,  I  think 
every  officer  in  the  regiment  present  company  excepted, 
who  being  on  duty  could  not  go,  much  to  then-  chagrin. 
Such  Tt  glorious  crush  of  handsome  girls  has  not  been 
seen,  they  say,  since  our  regiment  came  to  (Quebec." 

"And  not  likely  to  have  been  seen  before  your  distin- 
guished arrival — eh,  Monredin  ?  "ejaculated  Des  Meloises, 
holding  his  glass  to  be  relillcd.  "  That  is  delicious  Bur- 
gundy." added  he.  "  I  did  not  think  anyone  beside  the 
Intendant  had  wine  like  that." 

"'That  is  some  of  La  Martiniere's  cargo,"  replied  Poul- 
ariez. "  It  was  kind  (jf  him.  was  it  not  ?  to  remember  us, 
poor  Bearnois  here  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  Atlantic  ?  " 

"  And  how  earnestly  we  were  praying  for  that  same 
Burgundy,"  ejaculated  Monredin,  "  when  it  came,  as  if 
dropped  upon  us  by  Providence.      Health  and  w»-alth  to 


ti 


IV 


Ml 


r- 


le 


lo 


PUT  MOXEY  IN  THY  PURSE. 


193 


Captain    La   Marlini^re,    and  the   good   frigate   Fkur  de 
Lysr' 

Another  round  followed. 

"They  talk  about  those  ]'\\-\?,Q.x\\?\cflm'Hh'umnain's  at  the 
tomb  of  Master  ]\aris,  which  are  setting  all  France  by  the 
ears,"  exclaimed  Monredin,  "  but  I  say  there  is  nothing  so 
contagious  as  the  drinking  of  a  glass  of  wine  like  that." 

"And  the  glass  gives  us  convulsions,  too,  Monredin,  if 
we  try  it  too  often,  and  no  miracle  about  it  either,"  re- 
marked Poulariez. 

Monredin  looked  up  red  and  puffy,  as  if  needing  a 
bridle  to  check  his  fast  gait. 

But  they  say  we  are  to  have  peace  soon.  Is  that  true, 
Des  Meloises  ?  "  asked  Poulariez.  "  You  ought  to  know 
what  is  under  the  cards  before  they  are  played" 

"  No,  I  don't  know  ;  and  I  hope  the  report  is  not  true. 
Who  wants  peac^  yet?  It  would  ruin  the  king's  friends  in 
the  colonv."  Des  Meloises  looked  as  statesmanlike  as  he 
could  when  delivering  this  dictum. 

"  Ruin  the  king's  friends!  Who  are  they,  Des  Mel- 
oises?" asked  Poulariez,  with  a  look  of  well-assumed  sur- 
prise. 

"  Why  the  associates  of  the  Grand  Company,  to  be 
sure.  What  other  friend'"  has  the  king  <^ot  in  New 
France  ?" 

"  Really  !  I  thought  he  had  the  Regiment  of  Beam 
for  a  number  of  them  ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  honest 
people  of  the  colony,'"  replied  Poulariez.  impatiently. 

"  The  Ilonncti's  Grns,  vou  mean  !  "  exclaimed  des  Mel- 
oises.  "  Well,  Poulariez,  all  I  have  to  say  is  that  if  this 
colony  is  to  be  kept  up  for  the  sake  of  a  lot  of  shojj-keepers 
wood-chopj)ers,  cobblers  ainl  farmers,  the  sooner  the 
king  hands  it  over  to  the  devil  or  the  English  the  better  !  " 

Poulariez  looked  indignant  enough  ;  but  from  the  others 
a  loud  laugh  followed  this  sally. 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  pulled  out  his  watch.  "  I 
must  begone  to  the  Palace,"  said  h  \"  "  I  dare  say 
Cadet,  Varin,  and  Penisault  will  have  balanced  the  ledgers 
by  this  time,  and  the  Intendant,  who  is  the  devil  for  busi- 
ness on  such  occasions,  will  have  settled  the  dividends  for 
the  quarter — the  only  jjart  of  the  business  I  care  about." 

"  But,  don't  you  help  them  with  the  work  a  little  ?  " 
asked  Poulariez. 

13 


I" 


wmnmm 


194 


r///;  cm  END' OR. 


M 


(ill 


"  Not  I ;  T  leave  business  to  them  tliat  have  a  vocation 
for  it.  Besides,  1  think  Cadet,  Varin  and  Penisault  like  to 
keep  the  inner  ring  of  the  company  to  themselves."  He 
turned  to  Kmeric :  "I  hope  there  will  be  aj^ood  dividend 
to-night,  Kmeric,"  said  he.  "1  owe  you  some  reA'enge  at 
piquet,  do  I  not  ?  " 

"  You  capoti'd  me  last  night  at  the  Taverne  de  Menut, 
and  I  had  three  aces  and  three  kings." 

"  Hut  I  had  a  qnatorzc,  and  took  the  fishes,"  replied 
Des  Meloises. 

Well,  Chevalier,  I  shall  win  them  back  to-night.  I  hope 
the  dividend  will  be  good.  In  that  way  I,  too,  may  share 
in  the  'business'  of  the  Grand  Company." 

"Good-bye,  Chevalier;  remember  me  to  St.  Blague!" 
(This  was  a  familiar  soubriquet  of  Bigot.)  *'  'Tis  tne  best 
name  going.  If  I  had  an  heir  for  the  old  chateau  on  the 
Adour,  1  would  christen  him  Bigot  for  luck." 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  left  the  officers,  and  pro- 
ceeded down  the  steep  road  that  led  to  the  Palace.  The 
gardens  were  quiet  to-day.  A  few  loungers  might  be  seen  in 
the  magnificent  alleys,  pleached  walks  and  terraces.  Beyond 
these  gardens,  however,  stretched  tiie  king's  wharves  and 
the  magazines  of  the  Friponne,  These  fairly  swarmed 
with  men  loading  and  unloading  ships  and  bateaux,  and 
piling  and  unpiling  goods. 

The  Chevalier  glanced  with  disdain  at  the  magazines, 
and  flourishing  his  cane,  mounted  leisurely  the  broad  steps 
of  the  palace,  and  was  at  once  admitted  to  the  Council 
room. 

"  Better  late  than  never,  Chevalier  des  Meloises  !  " 
exclaimid  Bigot,  carelessly  glancing  at  him  as  he  took  a 
seat  at  the  Board,  where  sat  Cadet,  Varin,  Penisault  and  the 
leading  spirits  of  the  Grand  C  mpany.  "  You  are  in  double 
luck  to-day.  The  business  is  over,  and  Dame  Friponne  has 
laid  a  golden  egg  worth  a  Jew's  tooth  for  each  partner  of 
the  Company." 

To  Chevali(!r  did  not  notice,  or  did  not  care  for,  the 
slight  touch  of  sarcasm  in  the  Intendant's  tone.  "  Thanks, 
Bigot!  "  drawled  he.  "  My  egg  shall  be  hatched  to-night 
down  at  Menut's.  I  expect  to  have  little  more  left  than 
the  shell  of  it  to-morrow." 

"Well,  never  mind!  We  have  considered  all  that, 
Chevalier.     What  one  loses  another  gets.    It  is  all  in  the 


I 


. 


rVT  MOXEY  IX  THY  PCRSE. 


195 


I 


family.  I^ook  here,"  continued  he,  laying  his  finL^'r  upon 
a  l^aijje  of  the  le(l;j;er  that  lay  open  before  hiui,  "  Madem- 
oiselle Ani;eH(|ue  des  Meloises  is  now  a  shareholder  in  the 
Grand  Company,  'J'he  list  of  high,  fair,  and  noble  ladies 
of  the  Court  who  are  members  of  the  C-ompany  will  be 
honored  by  the  addition  of  the  name  of  your  charming 
sister." 

'I'he  Chevnlier's  eyes  sparkled  with  delight  as  he  read 
Angelique's  name  on  the  book.  A  handsome  sum  of  five 
digits  stood  to  her  credit.  He  bowed  «his  thanks  with 
many  warm  cxjiressions  of  his  sense  of  '*  the  iionor  done 
his  sister  by  phicing  her  name  on  the  roll  of  the  ladi(,'s  of 
the  Court  who  honor  the  Company  by  accepting  a  share  of 
its  dividends." 

''  i  hope  ^^ademoiselle  des  Meloises  will  not  refuse  this 
small  mark  of  our  respect,"'  observed  Uigot,  feeling  well 
assured  she  woultl  not  deem  it  a  small  t)ne." 

"  Little  fear  of  that !  "  muttered  C'adet,  whose  bad 
opinion  of  tlie  sex  was  incorrigible.  "  The  game  fowls 
of  Versailles  scratch  jewels  out  of  ever,  dung  hill,  and 
Angelique  des  Meloises  iias  longer  claws  than  any  of 
them  !  " 

Cadet's  ill  natured  remark  was  either  unheard  or  un- 
heeded, besides  he  was  privileged  to  say  anything.  Des 
Meloises  bowed  with  an  air  of  perfect  complaisance  to  the 
Intendaiit  as  he  answered,  "  I  will  guarantee  the  perfect 
satisfaction  of  Angelique  with  this  marked  compliment  of 
the  Grand  Company.  She  will,  I  am  sure,  appreciate  the 
kindness  of  the  Intendant  as  it  deserves,' 

Cadet  and  V'arin  exchanged  smiles,  not  unnoticed  by 
Bi'ot,  who  smiled  too,  "  Y'es,  Chevalier,"  said  he,  "  the 
Comjxany  gives  this  token  of  its  admiration  for  the  fairest 
lady  in  New  h'rance.  We  have  bestowed  |)remiunis  upon 
fine  flax  and  fat  cattle  ;  wh}'  not  upon  beauty,  grace,  and 
wit  embodied  in  handsome  womeii  ?  " 

"  Angi'lique  will  be  highly  tlattered,  Chevalier,"  replied 
he,  "at  the  distinction.  She  nuist  thank  }-ou  herself,  as  I 
am  sure  she  will." 

**  I  am  iiappy  to  try  to  deser\e  her  thanks,"  rei)lied 
Bigot  ;  and,  not  caring  to  talk  furliier  on  the  subject  : 
"what  news  in  the  city  this  afternoon,  Chevalier  ;"  asked 
he;  "  how  does  that  affair  at  IJelmont  go  off?" 

"  Don't  know.     Half  the  city   has  gone,  I  think.      At 


196 


THE  cm  EN  lTOR. 


I 


i:i 


the  Cliurch  door,  however,  the  talk  among  the  nierchanis  is 
that  peace  is  going  to  be  made  soon.  Is  it  so  very  threat- 
ening, l>igot  ? " 

"  If  the  King  wills  it,  it  is."     Bigot  spoke  carelessly. 

"  But  your  own  opinion,  Chevalier  Bigot ;  what  think 
you  of  it  ?  " 

"Amen!  anion!  Qih^d  ftat  fatur  !  Scigny  John,  the 
fool  ot  Paris,  ( oukl  enlighten  you  as  well  as  I  could  as  to 
what  the  women  at  Versailles  may  decide  to  do,"  replied 
Bigot  in  a  tone  of  impatience. 

"  I  fear  peace  will  be  made.  What  will  you  do  in  that 
case.  Bigot  ? "  asked  Des  Meloises,  not  noticing  Jjigot's 
aversion  to  the  topic. 

"If  the  King  makes  it.  Invitus  amain)/  as  the  man 
said  who  married  the  shrew."  Jiigot  laughed  mockingly. 
"  We  must  make  the  best  of  it,  Des  Meloises  !  and  let  me 
tell  you  privately,  I  mean  to  make  a  good  thing  of  it  for 
ourselves,  whichever  way  it  turns." 

"But  what  will  become  of  the  Com]:)any  should  the  war 
expenditure  stop.-*"  The  Chevalier  was  thinking  of  his 
dividend  of  five  figures. 

"  Oh  !  vou  should  have  been  here  sooner,  Des  Meloises. 
you  would  have  heard  our  grand  settlement  of  the  question 
in  every  contingency  of  peace  or  war." 

"  Be  sure  of  one  thing,"  continued  Bigot,  "  the  Grand 
Company  will  not,  like  the  eels  of  Melun,  cry  out  before 
they  are  skinned.  What  says  the  proverb,  '  JMic'itx  rant 
CTiX'fi  (/lie /one '  "  (craft  beats  strength).  ''The  Grand  Com- 
pany must  prosper  as  the  tirst  condition  of  life  in  New 
Trance.  Perhajjs  a  year  or  two  of  repose  may  not  be 
amiss,  to  revictual  and  reinforce  the  colony  ;  and  by  that 
tin  J  we  shall  be  ready  to  pick  the  lock  of  Bellona's  temple 
again,  and  cry  Vive  la  Guerre!  Vive  la  Grande  Cojiipagiiie I 
more  merrilv  than  ever  !  " 

BiiTot's  farVeaching  intellect  forecast  the  course  of 
everts,  which  remained  so  much  subject  to  his  own  direc- 
tion after  the  peace  of  Aix  la  Chapelle — a  peace  which  in 
America  was  never  a  peace  at  all,  but  only  an  armed  and 
troubled  truce  between  tin-  clashing  interests  and  rival 
ambitions  of  the  JMcnch  and  P'nglish  in  the  new  world. 

The  meetinu:  of  the  Board  of  Managers  of  the  Grand 
Comixmy  broke  up,  and — a  circumstance  that  rarely  hap- 
pened— without  the  customary  debauch.     Bigot,  preoccu- 


I   ; 


rit 


>  I 


PUT  MONEY  IN  THY  PURSE. 


197 


II 


I 


' 


pied  with  liis  own  projects,  which  reached  far  beyond  the 
mere  interests  of  the  Company,  retired  to  his  couch. 
Cadet,  Varin,  and  Penisault,  forming  an  interior  circle  of 
the  Friponne,  had  certain  matters  to  shape  for  the  Com- 
pany's eye.  The  rings  of  corruption  in  the  Grand  Com- 
pany descended,  narrower  and  more  ijlack  and  precipitous, 
down  to  the  bottom  where  IJigot  sat,  the  Demiurgos  of 
all. 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloiscs  was  rather  proud  of  his 
sister's  beauty  and  cleverness,  and  in  truth  a  little  afraid 
of  her.  They  lived  together  iiarmoniously  enough,  so  long 
as  each  allowed  the  other  his  or  her  own  wav.  Both  took 
it,  and  followed  their  own  pleasures,  and  were  not  usually 
disagreeable  to  one  another,  except  when  Angelic[ue  com- 
mented on  wh:i.t  she  called  his  penuriousness,  and  he 
upon  her  extravagance,  in  the  financial  administration  of 
the  familv  of  the  Des  Meloises. 

The  Chevalier  was  highly  delighted  to-day  to  be  able 
to  inform  Angt'-lique  of  her  good  fortune  in  becoming  a 
partner  of  the  Friponne,  and  that  too  by  grace  (^f  his  Ex- 
cellency the  Intendant.  The  information  filled  Angelique 
with  delight,  not  only  because  it  made  her  indepeiulent  of 
her  brother's  mismanagement  of  money,  but  it  opened  a 
door  to  her  wildest  hopes.  In  that  gift — her  ambition 
found  a  potent  ally  to  enable  her  to  resist  the  appeal  to 
her  heart,  which  she  knew  would  be  made  to  night,  by  Le 
Gardeur  de  Repentigny. 

The  Chevalier  des  Meloises  had  no  idea  of  his  sister's 
own  aims.  He  had  long  nourished  a  foolish  fancy,  that  if 
he  had  not  obtained  the  hand  of  the  wealthy  and  be mtiful 
heiress  of  Repentigny,  it  was  because  he  had  not  pro- 
posed. Something  to-day  had  suggested  the  thought  that 
unless  he  did  propose  soon,  his  chances  would  be  nil,  and 
another  might  secure  the  prize  which  he  had  in  his  vain 
fancy  set  down  as  his  own. 

"  He  hinted  to  Angt-liciue  to-day,  that  he  had  almost  re- 
solved to  marry,  and  that  his  projected  alliance  with  the 
noble  and  wealthy  house  of  Tilly  could  be  easily  accom- 
plished, if  Angelique  would  only  do  her  share  as  a  sister 
ought,  in  securing  her  brother's  fortune  and  happiness. 

*'  How.''''  asked  she,  looking  up  savagely,  for  she  knew 
well  what  her  brother  was  driving  at. 

"  By  your  accepting  Le  Gardeur  without  more  delay  I 


\m 


12., 


tt;;  .^. 


198 


77/^  CITIE^r  noR. 


All  the  city  knows  he  is  mad  in  love,  and  would  mart*}' you 
any  day  you  choose,  if  you  wore  only  the  hair  on  your 
liead.     He  would  ask  no  better  fortune  !  " 

"  It  is  useless  to  advise  me,  Renaud  !  "  said  she,  "and 
whether  I  take  Le  Gardeur  or  no,  it  would  not  help  your 
chance  with  Amelie  !  I  am  sorry  for  it,  for  Amclie  is  a 
]3rize,  Renaud  !  but  not  for  you  at  any  price.  Let  me  tell 
you,  that  desirable  youn^^j  lady  will  become  the  bride  of 
Pierre  Philibert,  and  the  bride  of  no  other  man  living." 

"  You  give  one  cold  encouragement,  sister  !  Put  I  am 
sure,  if  you  would  only  marry  Le  (Jardeur,  you  could  easily, 
with  your  tact  and  cleverness,  induce  AuK-lie  to  let  me 
share  the  Tilly  fortune.  There  are  chests  full  of  gold  in 
the  old  Manor  House  !  and,  a  crow  could  hardly  iiy  in  a 
day,  over  their  broad  lands  !  " 

"  Perfectlv  useless,  brother  !  Ami'die  is  not  like  most 
girls.  She  would  refuse  the  hand  of  a  king,  for  the  sake  of 
the  man  she  loves,  and  she  loves  Pierre  Philibert  to  his 
finger  ends.  She  has  married  him  in  her  heart  a  thousand 
times.  I  hate  paragons  of  women,  and  would  scorn  to  be 
one  !  but  I  tell  you  brother,  Amelie  is  a  paragon  of  a  girl, 
without  knowing  it  !  " 

"  Hum,  I  never  tried  my  hand  on  a  paragon,  I  should 
like  to  do  so,"  replied  he  with  a  smile  of  decided  confi- 
dence in  his  powers.  "  I  fancy  they  are  just  like  other 
women,  when  you  can  catch  them  with  their  armor  off." 

"  Yes,  but  women  like  Amelie,  never  lay  off  their 
armor  !  They  seem  born  in  it  like  Minerva.  Put  your 
vanity  will  not  let  you  believe  me,  Renaud  !  So  go  try 
her,  and  tell  me  your  luck  I  She  won't  scratch  you  nor 
scold.  Amelie  is  a  lady,  and  will  talk  to  you  like  a  Queen, 
But  she  will  give  you  a  polite  reply  to  your  proposal  that 
will  improve  your  opinions  of  our  sex." 

*'  You  are  mocking  me,  Angc'lique,  as  you  always  do! 
One  never  knows  when  you  are  in  jest  or  when  in  earnest. 
Even  when  youget  angry,  it  is  often  unreal,  and  for  a  pur- 
pose !  I  want  you  to  be  serious  for  once.  '^I'he  fortune 
of  the  Tillys  and  I)e  Repentignys  is  the  best  in  New 
France,  and  we  can  make  it  ours  if  you  will  help  me." 

"  I  am  serious  enough,  in  wishing  }()u  those  chests  full  of 
gold,  and  those  broad  lands  that  a  crow  cannot  iiy  over  in 
a  day.  But  I  must  forego  my  share  of  them,  and  so  must 
you  yours,  brother!  "     Angelique  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 


! 


PUT  MOXEY  LV  TtlY  PURSE. 


199 


V 


desirinpj  to  stop  further  discussion  of  a  topic  she  did  not 
like  to  hear. 

'*  Why  nuist  you  forego  your  share  of  the  de  Repentigny 
fortune,  Angelique?  You  could  call  it  your  own  any  day 
you  chose  by  giving  your  little  finger  to  Le  Gardeur,  you 
do  really  jnizzle  me  !  " 

The  Chevalier  did  look  perplexed  at  his  inscrutable 
sister,  who  only  smiled  over  the  table  at  him,  as  she  non- 
chalantly cracked  nuts  and  sipped  her  wine  by  drops. 

"  Of  course  I  puzzle  you,  Renaud  !  "  said  she  at  last. 
"1  am  a  puzzle  to  myself  sometimes.  15ut  you  see  there 
are  so  many  men  in  the  world,  poor  ones  are  so  plenty, 
rich  ones  so  scarce,  and  sensible  ones  hardly  to  be  found 
at  all,  that  a  woman  may  be  excused  for  selling  herself  to 
the  highest  bidder.  Love  is  a  commodity  only  spoken  of  in 
romances  or  in  the  patois  of  milkmaids,  now-a-days  !  " 

"Zounds!  Angelique,  you  would  try  the  patience  of 
all  the  saints  in  the  calendar!  I  shall  pity  the  felhnv  you 
take  in  !  Here  is  the  fairest  fortune  in  the  Colony,  about 
to  fall  into  the  hands  of  Pierre  Philibert ;  whom  Satan  con- 
found for  his  assurance  !  A  fortune  which  1  always  re- 
garded as  my  own  !  " 

"  It  shows  the  folly  and  vanity  of  your  sex  !  you  never 
spoke  a  word  to  Amt'lie  de  Repentigny  in  the  way  of  woo- 
ing in  your  life  !  Girls  like  her  don't  drop  into  men's  arms 
just  for  the  asking." 

"  Pshaw  !  as  if  she  would  refuse  me  if  you  only  acted 
a  sister's  part !  But  you  are  impenetrable  as  a  rock,  and 
the  whole  of  your  fickle  sex  could  not  match  your  vanity 
and  caprice,  Angelique." 

She  rose  quickly  with  a  provoked  air. 

"  You  are  getting  so  compliment..ry  to  my  poor  sex, 
Renaud,"  said  she,  "  that  I  must  really  leave  you  to 
yourself,  and  I  could  scarcely  leave  you  in  worse  com- 
pany." 

"  You  are  so  bitter  and  sarcastic  upon  one,"  replied 
he,  tartly  ;  "  my  only  desire  was  to  secure  a  good  fortune 
for  you,  and  another  for  myself.  I  don't  see,  for  my  part, 
what  women  are  made  for,  except  to  mar  everything  a  man 
wants  to  do  for  himself  and  for  them  !  " 

"  Certainly  everything  should  be  done  for  us,  brother  ; 
but  I  have  no  defence  to  make  for  my  sex,  none  !  I  dare 
say  we  women  deserve  all  that  men  think  of  us,  but  then  it 


200 


71IE  CIIIENUOR. 


« !  ■ .  •■  i 

lit''  '* 


.   ill 

iiii 


is  impolite  to  tell  us  "so  to  our  faces.  Now,  as  I  advised 
you,  Reiiaud,  I  would  counsel  you  to  study  ^arde!un<^,  and 
you  may  one  day  arrive  at  as  great  distinction  as  the 
Marquis  de  Vandriere — 'you  may  cultivate  chou  cliou  if  you 
cannot  raise  a  l^ride  like  Ami-lie  de  Repenligny." 

Angi'lique  knew  her  brother's  genius  was  not  penetrat- 
ing, or  she  would  scarcely  have  ventured  this  broad 
allusion  to  the  brother  of  La  Pompadour,  who,  by  virtue 
of  his  relationship  to  the  Court  favorite,  had  recently  been 
created  I)irectr)r  of  the  Royal  (iartlens.  What  fancy  was 
working  in  the  brain  of  Angeli([ue  when  she  alluded  to 
him  may  be  only  surmised. 

The  Chevalier  was  indignant,  however,  at  an  implied 
comparison  between  himself  and  the  plebeian  Marquis  de 
Vandriere.      He  rc|:)lied  with  some  heat. 

"  The  Marquis  de  Vandriere  !  How  dare  you  mention 
him  and  me  together  ?  There's  not  an  officer's  mess  in 
the  army  that  receives  the  son  of  the  fishmonger  !  Why 
do  you  mention  him,  Angelique  ?  You  are  a  perfect 
riddle  !  " 

"  I  only  thought  something  might  happen,  brother,  if  I 
should  ever  go  to  Paris !  I  was  acting  a  charade  in  my 
fancy,  and  that  was  the  solution  of  it !  " 

"  What  was  ?  You  would  drive  the  whole  Sorbonne 
mad  with  your  charades  and  fancies !  But  I  must  leave 
you." 

"  Good-bye,  brother,  if  you  will  go.  Think  of  it ! — if 
you  want  to  rise  in  the  world  you  may  yet  become  a  Royal 
Gardener  like  the  Marquis  de  Vandriere  !  "  Her  silvery 
laugh  rang  out  good  humoredly  as  he  descended  the  stairs 
and  passed  out  of  the  house. 

She  sat  down  in  her  fauteuil.  "  Pity  Renaud  is  such  a 
fool  !  "  said  she  ;  "  yet  I  am  not  sure  but  he  is  wiser  in 
his  f(jlly  than  I  with  all  my  tact  and  cleverness,  which  I 
suspect  are  going  to  make  a  greater  fool  of  me  than  ever 
he  is  !  " 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  in  a  deep  thinking  mood. 
"  It  is  grcjwing  dark,"  murmured  she.  "  Le  Gardeur  will 
assuredly  be  liere  soon,  in  spite  of  all  the  attractions  of 
Belmont.  How  to  deal  with  him  when  he  comes  is  more 
than  I  know.     He  will  renew  his  suit,  I  am  sure." 

For  a  moment  the  heart  of  Angclique  softened  in  her 
bosom.     "  Accept  him  I  must  not  1 "  said  she  \  "  affront 


i 


CROSS  QUF.STIOmXG. 


201 


;' 


him  I  wil!  not  !  cease  to  love  him  is  out  of  my  power,  as 
much  as  is  my  ability  to  love  the  Intendaut,  whom  I  cor- 
dially detest,  and  shall  marry  all  the  same  !  "  She  {Dressed 
her  hands  over  her  eyes,  and  sat  silent  for  a  few  minutes. 
"  But  I  am  not  sure  of  it !  That  woman  remains  still  at 
Ijeaumanoir  f  Will  mv  schemin;j;  to  remo\e  her  he  all  in 
vain  or  no?"  An^tMicjue  recollected  with  a  shudder  a 
thou<iht  th  It  had  leaped  in  her  bosom,  like  a  younjjj  Satan, 
enL;endered  of  evil  desires.  "  I  dare  hardly  l()r)k  in  the 
lionest  eyes  of  Le  (iardeur  after  nursing  such  a  nionstrous 
fancy  as  that,"  said  she  ;  "  but  my  fate  is  fixed  all  the 
same.  Le  Gardeur  will  vainly  try  to  undo  this  knot  in  my 
life,  but  he  must  leave  me  to  my  own  devices."  To  what 
devices  she  left  him,  was  a  thought  that  sprang  not  up  in 
her  purely  selfish  natuVe. 

In  her  perplexity  Angc'lique  tied  knot  upon  knot  hard 
as  pebbles  in  her  handkerchief.  Those  knots  of  her 
destiny,  as  she  regarded  them,  she  left  untied,  and  they 
remain  untied  to  this  dav — a  memento  of  her  character 
and  of  those  knots  in  her  life  which  posterity  has  puzzled 
itself  over  to  no  purpose  to  explain. 


cHAP'rj<:R  XX. 


\ 


CROSS   QUESTIONING. 

ANfiELiQUK,  weary  of  her  own  reflections  upon  the  un- 
certainties of  fortune,  summoned  Lizette  to  arrange  her 
toilette  afresh,  and  amuse  or  rather  distract  her  thoughts 
by  retailing  the  latest  gossip  of  the  Quartier.  That  was 
Lizette's  world — a  stirring  little  world,  too,  in  those  days, 
an  ejjitome  of  France  itself,  a  Paris  in  miniature,  where 
every  province  from  Beam  to  Artois  had  its  reiiresenta- 
tives  ;  and  the  little  pot  of  colonial  life  was  boiling  with  the 
rivalries,  friendships,  hates,  fears,  and  ambitions  of  the 
metropolis  of  the  kingdom,  sharprned  and  intensified  by 
the  narrowness  of  the  arena  in  which  they  met. 

Lizette  was  full  to-day  of  the  gossip  that  flew  from 
door  to  door  and  from  gallery  to  gallery  of  the  quaint  old 


5  ; 


11;:  ■ 


i^i 


n 
% 


tiiii 


ii  li ; 


i  5tfr;r 


111 


203 


77//:  CIIIEiX  IT  OR. 


houses,  nsraii;;ht  first  hy  iIk'  maids.  The  storv  of  the  (lf)inf];s 
at  liclmoiil  was  volubly  retailed  to  the  itehiiif;  ears  of  their 
mistresses,  and  the  account  of  the  carria^^^es  and  horsemen, 
horsewomen,  dresses,  •xwAcorti'gcs  of  the  fashionable  people 
goiiifi^  out  to  honor  the  fete  of  Pierre  i'hilibert  seemed 
interminable  as  the  list  of  Homer's  heroes. 

"  And  who  may  ihey  all  be,  Li/eite?"  asked  Angelique, 
not  for  information,  but  to  hear  iier  maid  talk,  for  she 
knew  well  who  had  been  invited,  who  were  going,  and  who 
had  declined  to  go  lo  IJelmont.  Nothing  happened  in 
Quebec  which  did  not  reach  Angt'lique's  ears,  and  tiie 
festival  at  Jielmont  had  been  the  talk  of  the  city  for  many 
clays. 

"  O,  they  are  T3ourgcoisie  for  the  most  part,  my  lady, 
people  who  smell  of  furs,  and  fish,  and  turpentine,  and 
Lower  Town  !  You  see  the  gentlemen  any  day,  down  in 
the  llasse  Ville,  jingling  their  money  in  their  pockets,  their 
coats  dusted  with  flour,  and  their  knees  greasy  with  oil, 
while  their  wives  and  daughters,  in  feathers  and  furbelows 
parade  through  Upper  Town,  with  all  the  assurance  of 
their  betters !  " 

Lizette  was  a  cunning  Abigail,  and  drew  her  portrait 
to  suit  the  humor  of  her  mistress,  whom  she  had  heard 
ridiculing  the  festival  of  the  Hoiinetes  Ge^/s,iis  sho  called  it. 

"  \i\\i  you  know  who  they  were,  Li/ette  .-'  That  tongue 
of  yours  can,  if  it  will,  repeat  every  name,  dress  and  equip- 
ment, that  has  gone  out  to  Belmont  to-day." 

"Yes,  my  lady.  What  I  did  not  see  myself,  I  learn- 
ed from  Manon  Nytouchc,  Madame  Racine's  maid,  who 
accompanied  her  mistress  down  to  the  house  of  Madame 
de  Grandmaison,  where  the  ladies  all  sat  in  tiie  balcony, 
quizzing  the  parties  as  they  rode  past  on  their  way  to  Bel- 
mont." 

Angelique  threw  herself  back  languidly  in  her  chair. 
"Go  on  then,  I  don't  care  how  you  learned  their  names, 
but  tell  me  who  rode  past.?" 

"  Oh,  there  were  all  the  Ikassards  of  course.  The  girls 
dressed  like  Duchesses,  quite  forgetting  the  dirty  old  maga- 
zine, in  Sous  Lc  Fort^  where  their  finery  comes  from  I  And 
the  (travels  from  the  Cul  de  Sac,  whose  large  feet  remind 
one  of  their  grandfather  the  old  Coureur  du  Bois,  who  ac- 
quired them  tramping  in  the  woods." 

"That  was  well  said,   Lizette!"  observed   Angelique. 


I, 


CA'OSS  Qr£Sr/O.V/,VG. 


203 


t 


'  T  wish  tlu-  Demoiselles  Gravel  could  hear  you  !  who  else 
were  there  ?  " 

"Oh,  the  Huots  of  course,  whose  stiff  necks  and  hi-;h 
shouldiTS  canu:  from  their  ^grandmother  the  S{(uaw  !  'I'he 
Sieur  1 1  not  took  her  out  of  the  wi»;\vam,  with  her  trous- 
seau on  her  back,  and  a  strap  round  her  forehead,  and 
made  a  city  dame  of  her!  Marry  come  up!  the  Demoi- 
selles Hiiot  wear  furs  in  another  fashion  now!  Then  tliere 
were  the  Touranj^eans,  wiio  ///////(•  themselves  rich  enou;j;h 
to  marry  into  the  noblesse  !  and  Cecile  of  course,  with 
her  hair  frizzed  over  her  forehead  to  hide  " — Lizelte  sud- 
denly remembering  she  was  on  dangerous  ground,  stopped 
short. 

"  To  hide  what?"  ejaculated  Angt'-lique,  rousing  her- 
self almost  savagely,  for  she  knew  well  why  her  maid 
hesitated. 

"  A  mark  like  a  red  cross  upon  her  forehead,  my 
'lady!"  Liz  L'tte  trembled  a  little,  for  she  was  never  sure 
what  direction  the  lightning  would  strike,  when  her  mis- 
tress was  angry. 

"  Ha,  Ha  !  '*  laughed  Ang('li(|ue.  "  She  did  not  get  that 
cross  in  baptism,  I'll  be  bound!  The  world  has  a  long 
tongue,  and  the  tip  of  it  is  in  your  mouth,  Lizette  !  "  con- 
tinued she,  leaning  back  in  her  chair  quietly,  to  her  maitl's 
surprise.     "Tell  me  now,  what  do  people  say  of  (Jechle  ?  " 

"  They  say,  my  lady,  that  she  would  give  her  little 
finger  any  day,  for  a  smile  from  the  Chevalier  de  Repen- 
tigny!"  Madame  Racine  says,  "It  is  only  to  see  /i/m 
that  she  has  gone  to  Belmont  to-day." 

"  Lizette,  I  will  strike  you  if  you  pull  my  hair  so  !  "  ex- 
claimed Angelique,  pushing  her  maid  away  with  her  hand, 
which  was  as  prompt  to  deal  a  blow  as  to  lavish  gifts  upon 
her  dependants. 

"  Pp.rdon  !  my  lady,"  replied  Lizette,  shrewd  enough 
to  perceive  the  cause  of  her  mistress'  anger,  and  also  how 
to  alhiy  it.  "Cecile  Tourangeau  may  look  her  eyes  out 
at  the  Chevalier  de  Repentigny.  but  I  know  he  has  no  love 
for  any  woman  but  one,  who  shall  be  nameless." 

"  No,  she  shall  not  be  nameless  to  me,  Lizette !  so  tell  it 
please,"  Angelique  fixed  her  maid  with  a  look  she  durst 
not  disobey. 

"  It  was  (;iily  the  other  night,  my  lady,  when  the  Cheva- 
lier  de   Repentigny,   remained   so   late,    that  he  said  on 


I 


it:: 
» - 


1' 

1    i 

iii 

I   i 

1l 

I 

^ 

\ 

204 


777/1  CniEN  D'OR. 


Icaviiij;  ihe  house,  *  TTimvcmi  1i:is  no  door  like  this  !  and 
no  MKinsion  I  would  inhabit  without  An^ohquc  !  '  I  would 
jjo  on  my  kut-t's  from  here  to  Konic,  for  a  man  who  loved 
nie  as  Le  (Jardeur  docs  you,  my  lady  !  "  exclaimed  TJzctte, 
with  a  hurst  of  enthusiasm  that  charmed  her  mistress. 

Li/ettt'  knew  she  was  sayiuLC  the  most  aii^reeahle  thing 
in  the  world  to  her,  a  thrill  of  pain  niinL,ded  with  pleasure, 
and  a  taste  of  sweet  and  hitter,  came  upon  thi'  ton<i;ue  of 
A n <:;('•  li que.  She  swallowed  the  sweet  and  threw  off  the 
hitter,  as  she  said  with  an  air  of  ^ayety. 

"When  a  man  <;oes  on  his  knees  fjr  a  woman  it  is  all 
over  with  her!  is  it  not  Li/ette  ? " 

"  It  would  be  all  over  with  me,  my  lady,"  replied  the  maid 
frankly.  "  Ikit  men  you  know  are  false  so  often.  A  woman 
never  has  them  safe  and  sure,  until  they  are  |>ut  to  bed 
by  the  sexton  with  a  coverlet  of  stone  on  top  of  them  !  " 

'*  You  are  ^ettiufj  positively  clever,  Lizette  !  "  exclaimed 
Anjj^elique,  cla|)pin;^  her  hands.  "  I  will  <;ive  you  a  new  <(own 
for  that  remark  of  yours  !  What  said  the  Chevalier  de 
Rej)enti.i;ny  further,  did  you  hear.''" 

"That  was  all  I  heard,  my  lady,  but  it  is  plain  as  the 
spire  of  Charlebourg,  as  they  say,  that  he  does  not  care  a 
pin  for  Cecile  Touran^eau,  and  for  her  to  try  to  make  an 
impression  u]x>n  him  is  just  as  vain,  Madame  Racine  says, 
as  to  put  yoin-  tinger  into  the  water  and  look  for  the  hole 
it  has  made  !  " 

"  Afadame  Racine's  sim.ihes  smack  of  the  water  side, 
and  she  talks  like  the  wife  of  a  stevedore  !  "  Ani^elique, 
while  induli^inj;  herself  in  every  freedoin  of  speech,  was 
merciless  in  her  criticism  of  coarseness  in  others.  "  But 
go  on  with  your  beads,  Lizette,  who  besides  all  those  ele- 
gant r)Ourgeois,  have  gone  to  Belmont  "*  " 

"  O  there  were  the  Massots  of  course  !  the  young  ladies 
in  blue  anil  white,  in  imitation  of  your  hist  new  costume, 
my  lady?" 

"  That  shows  their  good  taste,"  replied  Angelique,  "  and 
a  deference  to  their  betters,  not  always  found  in  Lower 
Town,  where  we  usually  see  more  airs  than  graces  !  Who 
besides  the  Massots  have  gone  ?  " 

'*  Oh,  the  whole  tribe  of  the  Cureux  I  Trust  any  thing 
going  on  in  ()uebec,  where  they  will  not  thrust  their  long 
noses !  " 

"  Oh  !  the  Cureux,  indeed !  "  replied  Angelique,  laughing 


'I  \ 


r>vo.9.v  Qrr.sT/ox/XG. 


20S 


t 


till  she  slmnk,  **  I  nhvavs  lauLrli  wlu-n  I  sec  ///<•//- lonjj  noses 
come  into  a  parlor." 

"Yes,  my  Ti.Kly,  over\' one  does !  even  servants!  tliey 
say  tlicy  got  them  by  smelling  stock  fish  which  they  send 
to  l''ranei'  by  tlvi  ship  load,  Madame  ("ureiix  is  alwivs 
boast iiiLj  'hit  the  Pope  himself  eats  their  stock  tish  in 
Lent." 

"  Well  their  noses  are  their  own,  and  nobody  envies 
them  the  possession  !  Bnt  all  their  stock  fish  cannot,  cure 
their  u;.jliness!"  An;;eli{|U('  knew  the  Cureux  were  very- 
rich,  and  it  pleased  her  to  find  a  "jood  offset  for  that  ad- 
van  ta<;e. 

"Nor  all  their  money  marry  the  demoiselles  Cureiix  to 
the  noblesse  !  "  renrirked  TJ/t-tt<',  with  a  touch  of  spile. 
She  too  did  not  like  the  (Hireiix  for  scjme  prejudice  of  the 
servants'  hall — inscrutable  here. 

"  There  you  are  wroiifj^,  TJzette  !  Money  will  many  any 
one  to  anv  bodv  !  It  will  marrv  me — enoujrh  of  it  !  "  An- 
geliciue  twitched  her  shoulder  and  <;a\e  a  short,  bitter  lauj^h. 

"  Yes,  most  people  s.iy  so,  my  Lady,  and  I  suppose  it 
is  true  !  Ikit  for  my  part,  havinj^  no  money,  I  like  a  bit  of 
love  to  season  the  family  potaj^e  !  I  would  not  marry  Louis 
Le  V-^gQ  with  his  five  hundred  livres  in  his  box,  if  I  would 
not  take  him  barefoot  just  as  (led  made  him." 

"Pshaw!  you  talk  like  a  fool!"  Au<:;elique  moved 
restlessly  in  her  chair,  as  if  tormented  with  a  thorn.  "  Peo- 
ple of  your  co.idition  are  happy  enou<;h  with  love  ;  you 
have  nothinjr  else  to  marrv  for," 

"  No,  and  for  that  reason  I^ouis  and  I  will  marry,"  re- 
plied Lizette,  .seriously.  "  God  made  men  wise,  they  say, 
and  we  women  teach  them  to  be  fools," 

"  You  are  clever  Lizette  and  woitiiy  to  be  my  maid," 
cried  Auj^eli(|ue,  admiringly,  "but  I  want  to  hear  tlie  rest 
of  your  gossip  about  Pclmoiit,  V'ou  have  only  mentioned 
the  B()ur<jjeoisie,  but  I  knf)W  many  people  of  condition  have 
gone  out  also," 

"  I  thought  my  I^ady  would  rather  have  me  mention 
the  Bourgeoisie,"  replied  Lizette,  naively.  She  knew  that 
sprinkling  a  little  common  earth  upon  the  guests,  would 
rot  displease  the  humor  of  her  mistress. 

"True,  but  I  have  hearfl  enough  about  f/irm  and  after 
all,  the  movements  of  the  bourgeoisie  are  of  no  more  im- 
portance than  the  flight  of  pigeons.    The  lionnc'tcs gens  are 


I 


'n 


I'': 


lU 


'<  ;l 


W: 


206 


77/i^'  CHI  EN  irOR. 


not   all    Bourc^eoisie — mores    the   wonder !  go  on,  Lizette, 
with  the  noblesse." 

"  Yes,  my  Lady!  Madame  de  Grandmaison  held  up  both 
hands  for  an  hour,  astoni.^'hed  at  the  equipages  rolling  on 
one  after  another  to  Belmont,  to  visit  a  mere  merchant,  a 
trader,  as  siie  called  the  J)Ourgeois  Philibert." 

"  Madame  de  (Irandinaison  forgets  the  old  rope  maker 
of  St.  Malo,  who  spun  her  own  family  line  !"  replied  An- 
gelique,  tartly  ;  she  iiated  Jie  Grandmai  )Ons.  *'  The  Bour- 
geois Philibert  is  himself  as  well  born  and  as  proud  too  as 
the  Lord  de  C'oucv." 

"  And  his  son,  the  Colonel,   is  as   proud  as  his   father, 
and  can  look  as  cross  too  when  he  is  displeased,"  remarked 
Lizette,  veering   round  readily  to   the  slnft  of  wind  in  her 
mistress'  humor. 

"  He  is  the  handsomest  gallant  in  the  city,  but  one," 
remarked  Angel ique. 

"  Yes,  my  Lad)-,"  replied  the  facile  maid.  "  The  Chev- 
alier de  Repentigny  thinks  him  perfection,  and  he  thinks 
Mademoiselle  de  Repentigny  more  than  perfection  ;  at 
least  that  was  Madame  Racine's  ojMnion." 

"  ^L^dame  Racine's  tongue  would  be  all  the  better  for 
shortening,  Lizette,  and  yours  too,  if  }ou  quote  her  sayings 
so  much." 

"  Yes,  my  Lady,"  replied  the  ever  acquiescent  maid, 
"  and  every  one  thought  the  same  when  siie  and  Madame 
de  Grandmaison  joined  in  a  cry  of  indignation  as  the  Gov- 
ernor rode  past,  with  that  strange  gentleman  from  Sweden, 
who  puts  Howers  in  a  book  instead  of  into  his  button  hole, 
and  pins  moths  and  butterflies  to  a  board.  They  say  he 
is  a  Huguenot  and  would  like  to  serve  Christians  in  the 
same  manner,  only  most  people  think  he  is  mad.  But  he 
is  really  \ery  nice  when  you  speak  to  him  !  and  the  Gov- 
ernor lik(fs  him  inmiensely.  All  the  maids  of  the  quartier 
say  their  mistresses  agree  on  that." 

"  Well,  never  mind  the  strange  gentleman  !  who  be- 
sides were  there  .-'  "  asked  Angel  ique. 

"  O  loads  and  loads  of  the  most  fashionable  people  ! 
such  as  the  Chavignys,  the  Lemoines,  tnc  Lanaudieres,  Du- 
perons  and  De  Lerys,  all  sitting  up  in  their  carriages  and 
looking  as  if  the  Colony  belonged  to  them." 

"  A  good  deal  of  it  docs  !"  remarked  Angelique  with  a 
touch  of  Madame  de  Grandmaison's  irritability. 


:a'oss  questioning. 


207 


<i 


"  But  the  D'  Ailicboustsand  the  Vaudreuils's,  they  did 
not  go}'' 

"  Only  the  Chevalier  Risjaud,  my  Lady,  who,  they  say 
always  roasts  a  I'ostonnais  when  his  soldiers  are  very  hungry  ! 
but  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  Pshaw !  but  tell  me  have  the  Beauharnois  gone  with 
the  rest  ? " 

*'  Yes,  my  Lady  !  Mademoiselle  was  dressed  like  an 
angel  in  white,  and  such  plumes  !  even  ^Lidamc  Couillard 
said  she  looked  handsomer  than  her  brother  Claude," 

"  Oh,  Hortense  !  every  one  is  bursting  with  praises  of 
Hortense ! "  exclaimed  Angelicjue  with  decided  pique, 
fanning  herself  impatiently.  "  It  is  because  she  makes  her- 
self so  friendly  ;  forward  I  call  it,  and  she  thinks  herself  so 
witty  !  or,  at  least  causes  the  gentleman  to  think  so.  The  heir 
of  Belmont  would  hardly  pay  her  for  opening  her  blrxk  eyes 
so  wide  !  " 

Ange'lique  was  bitter  and  unjust.  She  was,  in  truth, 
jealous  of  the  beauty  and  grace  of  Hortense  de  Beauharnois, 
who  approached  too  near  her  own  absolute  kingdom,  not 
to  be  looked  upon  otherwise  than  as  a  dangerous  rival. 

"  Is  your  list  ended  ?  "  Ange'licjue  got  very  impatient. 
"  Of  course,  all  the  Tillys,  De  Repentignys,  St.  Lues,  and 
their  tribes  from  North  to  South,  would  not  be  absent  on 
any  such  occasion  as  a  gathering  of  the  Honnetcs  gens  in 
honor  of  the  I'hiliberts!  " 

"  No  my  Lady,  and  they  are  all  there,  as  Madame  de 
Grandmaison  remarked.  The  city  has  gone  mad  over 
Belmont,  and  every  body  has  gone  I  "  Lizette  began  count- 
ing on  her  fingers,  "  besides  those  I  named  there  were  the 
De  Beaujeus,  the  Contrecceurs,  the  De  Villiers  the — " 

"  For  God's  sake,  stop  !  "  burst  out  Angelique  '*  or  go 
back  to  the  Bourgeoisie,  the  rabble  and  the  slops  of  Lower 
town  !  " 

This  was  a  coarse  speech  for  Angelique,  but  she  liked 
sometimes  to  leap  over  ih.e  bars  of  politeness,  and  riddle 
society  of  its  cinders,  she  said.  Her  supernal  beauty  was 
earthmade,  and  she  could  on  occasion  talk  coarsely,  talk 
argot  or  even  smoke  while  comparing  the  jxMnts  of  men 
and  horses  in  the  penetralia  of  her  boudoir,  in  the  free  and 
easy  companionship  of  friends  of  her  own  sex. 

Lizette  took  the  hint  and  gave  a  satirical  description  of  a 
rich  old  merchant  and  his  family,  the  Sieur  Keratry,  an 


'A  ^ 


ii^i 


*!  ;■ 


208 


r//E  CITIEN  D"  IR. 


honest  Bas  Breton.  "They  say,"  continued  Lizettc  "that 
the  Sieur  Keratry  first  learned  the  use  of  a  pocket  hand- 
kerchief after  his  arrival  in  an  Emigrant  ship,  and  forgets 
to  use  it  to  this  day  !  " 

"  Why  that  is  true  !  "  laughed  Angelique,  restored  to 
good  humor,  by  the  mention  of  the  old  trader  of  the  Sault 
an  Matelot. 

"  The  Bas  Bretons  never  use  anything  but  their  sleeves 
and  fingers  !  and  you  always  recognize  the  honest  folk  of 
Finis  Tcrrc  by  that  unmistakal^le  trait  of  Breton  polish  1 
the  Sieur  Keratry  is  true  to  his  province  and  can  never 
forget  the  primitive  fashion,  I  hope  he  will  practise  it  well  at 
lielmont!  Bah  !  ButI  wonthearany  more  Lizette,  I  dont  care 
who  has  gone!  I  know  one  who  won't  stay  !  Mark  you  !  "  con- 
tinued she.  "When  the  Chevalier  de  Repentigny  calls 
this  evening  show  him  up  at  once  ?  I  am  resolved  he  shall 
not  remain  at  Iklmont  whoever  else  does."  She  held  up 
a  warning  finger  to  her  maid,  "  Remember  now  you  may  go 
Lizette,  1  want  to  be  alone." 

"  Yes,  my  Lady  !  "  Lizette  would  fain  have  continued 
her  gossip,  but  she  dared  not.  There  was  a  flash  now  and 
then  in  Angelique's  eyes  that  boded  fire  not  far  off.  Lizette 
withdrew,  somewhat  perplexed  about  her  mistress's  real 
thoughts  of  persons  and  things,  and  remarked  to  her  con- 
fidante the  housekeeper,  that  her  lady  was  "  in  a  tantrum 
over  something  or  other  and  some  body  would  surely  suffer 
before  to-morrow !  " 


!i  ;! 


CHAPTER  XXL 


BELMONT. 


A  SHORT  drive  from  the  gate  of  St.  John,  stood  the  old 
mansion  of  Belmont,  the  country  seat  of  the  Bourgeois 
Philibert.  A  stately  park,  the  remains  of  the  primeval 
forest  of  oak,  maple,  and  pine  ;  trees  of  gigantic  growth 
and  ample  shade,  surrounded  the  high  roofed,  many  gabled 
house  that  stood  on  the  heights  of  St.  Foye  overlooking 
the  broad  valley  of  the  St.  Charles.  The  bright  river 
wound  like  a  silver  serpent  through  the  flat  meadows  in 


BELMOXT. 


209 


) 


tlie  bottom  of  the  valley.  While  the  opposite  slopes  of  al- 
ternate field  and  forest  stretched  away  to  the  distant  range 
of  the  Laurentian  hills  whose  pale  blue  summits  minjjjled 
with  the  blue  sky  at  mid-day,  or  wrapped  in  mist  at  morn 
and  eve  were  hardly  distinguishable  from  the  clouds  be- 
hind them. 

The  bright  slender  spire  of  a  village  church  peered  up 
shyly  from  the  distant  woods  on  the  mountain  side  ;  while, 
here  and  there  the  white  walls  of  a  farm  house  stood  out 
amid  green  meadows,  or  the  smoke  alone  of  a  chimney 
rose  up  from  orchards  of  ai:)ple  and  pear,  showing  where  a 
thrifty  hahitant  had  cast  his  lot,  under  the  protection  of  a 
feudal  manor  house  that  was  conspicuous  upon  more  than 
one  commanding  spot  in  the  wide  landscape. 

The  day  was  charming,  fresh  and  breezy.  Summer 
showers  had  washed  clean  the  face  of  nature,  and  warm 
sunshine  of  almost  tropical  heat,  which  prevails  in  New 
France  for  a  brief  period,  stirred  all  (he  life  in  animate 
and  inanimate  creation.  The  leaves  and  grass  ghnvod  in 
vivid  green,  and  on  every  side  Howers  of  every  hue 
breatliing  out  odors  seemed  alive  with  pure  delight  of 
blooming. 

The  park  of  Relmont  sweeping  round  to  the  woods  of 
Sillery  contained  a  little  world  of  wild  Howers  and  ferns, 
hidden  away  in  its  sylvan  recesses  safe  from  the  plough- 
share, as  its  forest  trees  were  safe  from  tl'.e  woodman. 
Many  rare  and  exquisite  forms  of  floral  beauty  repaid  the 
protection  of  the  Manor  of  JJelmont.  In  glades  half  lit 
by  struggling  sunbeams,  the  ferns  stood  knee  deep,  wav- 
ing their  lace  like  tracery,  beautiful  and  delicate  as  the 
bridal  veil  of  the  Queen  of  ]\airylan(l.  Little  dells  thick 
with  shrubbery,  were  glowing  with  the  rosy  cups  of  the 
Liniuta  Borealis,  and  narrow  leased  Kalmia, first  so  named 
this  day  by  the  Count  de  la  Galissoniere  in  honor  of  his 
friend  Herr  Kalm.  The  winding  and  in  some  places  steep 
hill-side  paths  were  bordered  with  trailing  orchises, 
white  and  red  and  purple,  ladies  hair  and  silvery  bells  for 
garlands  in  fairy  dances  by  moonlight.  Trillia  whirling 
their  triple  glories  ;  flowers  born  in  the  purple,  like  chil- 
dren of  an  Emperor, — priceless  treasures  of  Flora  in  the 
old  world,  but  here  growing  wild,  the  free  gifts  of  boun- 
teous nature.  The  turf  of  the  j)ark  was  thick,  soft,  and 
green  as  an  emerald.     Huge  patriarchal  trees,  giants  of 

14 


2IO 


THE  CIHEX  D'OK. 


W  \  - 


■  i 

m 

[       i 


Si 

ij 

m 


•it    14     ' 

ili:! 


the  olden  time  stood  round  in  solitary  dignity,  shading  the 
broad  drives, or  were  grouped  in  clusters  deep  and  solemn 
as  fragments  of  the  primeval  forest  of  which  they  had 
once  formed  a  part. 

The  gardens  and  lawns  of  Belmont  were  st  .ring  with 
gay  company  to-day  in  honor  of  the  Fete  of  Pierre  Phili- 
bert,  upon  his  return  home  from  the  campaign  in  Acadia. 
Troops  of  ladies  in  costumes  and  toilettes  of  the  latest 
Parisian  fashion  gladdened  the  eye  with  pictures  of  grace 
and  beauty,  which  Paris  itself  could  not  have  surpassed. 
Gentlemen  in  full  dress,  in  an  age  when  dress  was  an  es- 
sential part  of  a  gentleman's  distinction,  accompanied  the 
ladies,  with  the  gallantry,  vivacity  and  politeness  belong- 
ing to  France,  and  to  France  alone 

Comnmnication  with  the  mother  country  was  pre- 
carious and  uncertain  by  reason  of  the  war,  and  the  block- 
ade of  the  Gulf  by  the  English  cruisers.  Hence,  the  good 
fortune  and  daring  of  the  gallant  Captain  Mariniere  in 
running  his  frigate,  the  Flcnr  dc  Lys,  through  the  fleet  of 
the  enemy,  enabling  him  among  other  things  to  replenish 
the  wardrobes  of  the  ladies  of  Quebec,  with  latest  Parisian 
fashions,  made  him  inunensely  popular  on  this  gala  day. 
'J1ie  kindness  and  affability  of  the  ladies  extended  without 
diminution  of  graciousness  to  the  little  midshipmen  even 
whom  the  Captain  conditioned  to  take  with  him  wherever 
he  and  his  officers  were  invited.  Captain  Mariniere  was 
happy  to  see  the  lads  enjoy  a  few  cakes  on  shore  after  the 
hard  biscuit  they  had  so  long  nibbled  on  shipboard.  As 
for  himself  there  was  no  end  to  the  gracious  smiles  and 
thanks  he  received  from  the  fair  ladies  assembled  at  Bel- 
mont. 

At  the  great  door  of  the  Manor  House  welcoming  his 
guests  as  they  arrived,  stood  the  liourgeois  Philibert, 
dressed  as  a  gentleman  of  the  period  in  attire  rich  but  not 
ostentatious.  His  suit  of  dark  velvet  harmonized  well 
with  his  noble  manner  and  bearing.  ]>ut  no  one  for  a  mo- 
ment could  overlook  the  man  in  contemplating  his  dress. 
The  keen  discriminating  eye  of  woman  overlooking  neither 
dress  nor  man,  found  both  wortliv  of  warmest  commenda- 
tion,  and  many  remarks  passed  between  the  ladies  on  that 
day,  that  a  handsomer  man  and  more  ripe  and  perfect 
gentleman  than  the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  had  never  been 
seen  in  New  France. 


D  ELMO  XT. 


21  I 


His  grizzled  hair  grew  thickly  all  over  his  head,  the  sign 
of  a  tenacious  constitution.  It  was  powdered  and  tied  be- 
hind with  a  broad  ribbon,  for  he  hated  peruques.  His 
strong  shapely  figure  was  handsomely  conspicuous  as  he 
stood  ciiapeau  in  iiand,  grt'cling  his  guests  as  they  approach- 
ed. His e\es  beamed  with  pleasure  and  hosj^jitality,  and  his 
usually  grave,  thoughtful  lips,  were  wreathed  in  smiles,  the 
sweeter  because  not  habitually  seen  upon  them. 

The  ]>ourgeois  had  this  in  conunon  with  all  complete 
and  earnest  characters,  that  the  people  believed  in  him, 
because  they  saw  that  he  believed  in  himself.  His  friends 
loved  and  trusted  him  to  the  uttermost,  his  enemies  hated 
and  feared  him  in  ecpial  measure  ;  but  no  one  great  or 
small,  could  ignore  him  and  not  feel  his  presence  as  a 
solid  piece  of  manhood. 

It  is  not  intellect,  nor  activity,  nor  wealth  that  obtains 
most  p(jwer  over  men  ;  but  force  of  character,  self-control, 
a  quiet  compressed  will,  and  patient  resolve  ;  these  cjual- 
ities  make  one  man  the  natural  ruler  over  others  by  a 
title  they  never  dispute. 

The  party  of  the  Hofinefes  gms,  the  "  honest  folks  "  as 
they  were  derisively  called  by  their  opponents,  regarded 
the  Bourgeois  Philibert  as  their  natural  leader.  His  force 
of  character  made  men  willingly  stand  in  iiis  shadow.  His 
clear  intellect,  never  at  fault,  had  extended  his  power  and 
influence  by  means  of  his  vast  mercantile  operations  over 
half  the  continent.  His  position  as  the  foremost  merchant 
of  New  France  brought  him  in  the  front  of  the  people's 
battle  with  the  Grand  Company  and  in  opposition  to  the 
financial  policy  of  the  Intendant  and  the  mercantile  as- 
sumption of  the  Friponne 

But  the  personal  hostility  between  the  Intendant  and 
the  ]iourgeois  had  its  root  and  origin  in  France,  before 
either  of  them  crossed  the  ocean  to  the  hither  shore  of  the 
Atlantic.  The  Bourgeois  had  been  made  very  sensible  of 
a  fact  vitally  affecting  him,  that  the  decrees  of  the  Intend- 
ant ostensibly  for  the  regulation  of  t'ade  in  New  France 
had  been  sharply  pointed  against  himself.  "  They  draw 
blood!  " — Bigot  had  boasted  to  his  familiars  as  he  rubbed 
his  hands  to;:ether  with  intense  satisfaction  one  dav,  when 
he  learned  that  Philibert's  large  trading  jiost  in  Mackinaw, 
had  been  closed  in  consequence  of  the  Indians  having  been 
commanded  by  royal  authority,  exercised  by  the  Intend- 


f 
m 


iill 


112 


THE  CirfEJV  D'OR. 


ant,  to  tr;i(]c  only  at  the  C'omptoirs  of  the  Grand  Comp- 
any. ''They  chaw  blood  !  "  rrpeatcd  he,  "  and  will  draw 
the  life  yt-t  out  of  the  (Joldcn  Dolc.''  It  was  plain,  the 
ancient  j^iudj^e  of  the  courtly  [)arasite  had  not  lost  a  t(JOth 
durin-:;  all  those  years. 

The  Houri^eois  was  not  a  man  to  talk  of  his  private 
<:^riefs,  or  seek  sympathy,  or  even  ask  counsel  or  heli). 
He  knew  the  world  was  engrossed  with  its  own  cares. 
The  world  cared  not  to  look  under  the  surface  of  tiiin^.s 
for  sake  of  olhcis,  hut  oiiI\' for  its  own  sake,  its  own  inter- 
ests, its  own  ])leasurcs. 

Today,  howe\'er,  cares,  j^ricfs,  and  resentments,  were  cast 
aside,  and  the  ISourj^oois  was  all  joy  at  the  return  of  his 
only  son,  and  j^roud  of  Pierre's  achievements,  and  still 
more  of  the  honors  s[M)ntaneously  paid  him.  He  stood  at 
the  door,  welcomim;"  arrival  after  arrival,  the  happiest  man 
of  all  the  joyous  company  who  honored  lielmont  that 
day. 

A  carria<;e,  with  outriders,  broujjjht  the  Count  de  la 
Galissoniere  and  his  friend  Herr  Ivilm,  and  Dr.  Cauthier, 
Uie  last  a  rich  old  bachelor,  hanilsome  and  s^enerous,  the 
physician  and  savant,  par  excellence,  of  (Quebec.  After  a 
most  cordial  reception  by  the  Hour<;eois,  the  (iovernor 
walked  among  the  j^uests,  who  had  crowded  up  to  greet 
him,  with  the  resjiect  due  to  the  King's  representative,  as 
well  as  to  show  their  personal  regard  ;  for  the  Count's 
populaiity  was  unbounded  in  the  colony  except  among  the 
j>aitizans  of  the  Grand  Company. 

Herr  Kalm  was  presently  enticed  away  by  a  bevy  of 
young  ladies,  Hortense  Ik'auharnois  leading  them,  to  get 
the  learned  Professor's  oi)inion  on  some  rare  specimens  of 
botany  growing  in  the  park.  Nothing  loath — for  he  was 
goo<l  natured  as  he  was  clever,  and  a  great  enthusiast 
withal  in  the  study  of  plants — he  allowed  the  merry,  talk- 
ative gills  to  lead  him  where  they  would.  He  delighted 
them  in  turn  by  his  agreeable,  instructive  conversation, 
which  was  rendered  still  more  piquant  by  the  odd  medley 
of  Flench,  Latin  and  Swedish  in  which  it  was  expressed. 

The  Sieur  Gauthier  was  greeted  on  every  side  with 
marks  of  esteem  an<l  even  affecticiu.  With  the  ladies  he 
was  an  especial  favorite.  His  sympathetic  manner  and 
read)  wit  won  th(;ir  admiration  and  confidence.  As  the 
first  physician  of  the  city,  Dr.  Gauthier  was  to  their  bodies 


BELMONT. 


213 


M 


what  their  confessor  was  to  their  souls,  indispensable  to 
their  health  and  comfort.  The  good  doctor  had  his 
specialties  also,  as  every  man  of  i^t-nius  fails  not  to  have. 
He  was  a  good  astronomer,  and  it  was  known  that  the 
science  of  astrology  was  not  out  of  the  category  of  his 
studies.     Aiii^N/\  mediciix,  W(^.i,7/y,  omnia  noi'it ! 

The  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  had  not  quite 
convinced  itself,  as  the  close  of  the  nineteenth  has 
done,  that  what  is  what,  and  that  only.  Upon  the 
good  doctor's  house,  overlooking  the  Cote  aux  Chiens, 
was  a  small  observatory.  It's  long,  projecting  telescope 
was  to  the  liabitixns  suggestive  of  magical  powers.  They 
would  not  be  persuaded  but  that  the  good  doctor  cured 
diseases  by  the  "secret,"  rather  than  by  legitimate  medical 
science,  and  was  more  beholden  to  the  stars  for  iiis  suc- 
cess in  curing  than  to  the  art  of  medicine.  Hut  tliat  be- 
lief secured  his  popularity  all  the  more.  By  temjicrament 
he  behjnged  to  the  merry  school  of  the  )in\ii:cins  tiint 
w/Vv/.r,  whom  La  Fontaine  immortalizes  in  his  inimitable 
fable.  The  good  doctor  laughed  at  the  workl,  and  was 
not  vexed  if  the  world  laughed  at  him.  In  one  tender 
spot  only  he  was  very  sensitive,  however,  and  the  quick- 
witted ladies  never  ceased  probing  it  with  pins  and 
needles — his  want  of  a  wife,  and.  still  more  perhajis,  of  an 
heir  to  hand  his  name  and  fortune  down  to  posterity. 

'I'he  ladies  knew  he  was  a  useful  mm,  anrl  they  zeal- 
ously strove  to  double  his  usefulness,  but  so  far  the  meas- 
ures taken  b\-  them  had  been  inadecpiate  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  their  object.  To-day,  the  doctor's  feathers  had 
been  rufUled  l)V  a  controversv  with  the  learned  Swede,  who 
maintained  with  irritating  obstinacy  the  fashionable  thecjry 
of  stay-at-home  philosophers  in  the  old  world  that  the 
European  race  degenerates  on  the  soil  of  the  new. 

The  doctor,  meeting  Herr  Kalm  on  his  walk  in  the 
garden  of  lielmont,  again  rushed  into  the  defence  of  the 
children  of  the  soil,  and  rouudl)-  swore  by  the  Three 
Graces,  by  Lenis  Luc  11a.  and  all  the  powers  of  dittany, 
(he  was  always  classical  when  excited,)  that  the  progeny 
of  New  France  was  an  im[)rovement  on  the  old  stock. 
Like  the  wines  of  Bordeaux,  it  accpiired  fresh  S])irit, 
strength  and  bouquet  by  its  transfer  across  the  Atlantic. 

Forgetful  of  the  presence  of  the  ladies,  who  listened 
with  open  eyes  and  ears  to  his  vow,  the  doctor  declared  he 


I 


it  ' 

5    :' 

i 


' 


l.i 


J    - 


!!  I 


'  ! 


1^1 


nu 


214 


T//E  CFIIEiV  D'OR. 


would  marry,  and  demonstrate,  to  the  utter  refutation  of 
such  errors,  that  tlie  noble  race  of  Gauls  and  Franks  does 
not   deteriorate    in     the    New    World,    but    its    progeny 


strengthens  as  it  lengthens,  an  ' 


gathers  as  it  grows  , 


and 


that  another  litstrum  should  not  pass  over  his  head  before 
he  would  convince  Herr  Kahn  himself  that  Junopean 
philosophy  was  futile  in  face  of  Canadian  practice. 

To  be  sure,  few  of  the  ladies  knew  precisely  what  a 
liisfrum  was,  but  they  guessed  the  good  doctor  intended 
to  lake  a  wife  very  soon,  and  the  nev/s  flew  in  as  numy 
shapes — each  a  complete  story  of  itself — as  there  were 
pretty  mouths  to  tell.it  all  over  the  grounds. 

"  I  will  demonstral'j,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  seconding 
his  words  by  solid  thumps  of  his  cane  upon  the  ground, 
"  I  will  demonstrate  that  in  New  France  a  man  of  sixty 
is  as  hearty  and  as  marriageable  as  a  European  of  thirty.  I 
will  do  it.      I  will  marry!" 

A  laugh  from  the  gentlemen,  and  many  conscious 
blushes  from  the  ladies,  greeted  the  doctor's  vow ;  but 
further  discussion  of  the  nice  point  was  postponed  by  an 
influx  of  fresh  arrivals  who  poured  into  the  park. 

The  Chevalier  La  Corne,  with  his  pretty  daughter, 
Agathe  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  Ann-lie 
de  Repentigny,  with  the  brothers  De  Villiers.  The  broth- 
ers had  overtaken  the  Chevalier  La  Corne  upon  the  road, 
but  the  custom  of  the  highway  in  New  }''rance  forbade 
anyone  passing  another  without  politely  asking  permission 
to  do  so. 

"  Yes,  Coulon,"  replied  the  Chevalier  ;  "  ride  on."  He 
winked  pleasantly  at  his  daughter  as  he  said  this.  "There 
is,  I  suppose,  ncjthing  left  for  an  old  fellow  who  dates 
from  the  sixteen  hundreds  but  to  take  the  side  of  the 
road  and  let  you  pass.  I  should  have  liked,  however,  to 
stir  up  the  fire  in  my  gallant  little  Norman  ponies  against 
your  l)ig  New  England  horses.  Where  did  you  get  them  "i 
Can  they  run  ?" 

"We  got  them  in  the  sack  of  Saratoga,"  replied  Cou- 
lon, ''and  they  ran  well  that  day,  but  we  overtook  them. 
Would  Mulamoiselle  La  Corne  care  if  we  try  them  now?" 

Scarcely  a  girl  in  ()uel)ec  would  have  declined  the  ex- 
citement of  a  race  on  the  high-road  of  St.  Foye,  and 
Agathe  would  fain  have  driven  herself  in  the  lace.  but, 
Deing  in  full  dress  to-day,  she  thought  of  her  wardrobe  and 


l|i 


BELMONT. 


215 


the  company.  She  checked  the  ardor  of  her  father, 
and  entered  the  i)ark  deniurely,  as  one  of  llie  gravest  of 
the  guests. 

"  Happy  youths  !  Noble  hids  !  Agathe,"  exchiimed  the 
Chevalier,  admiringly,  as  the  brothers  rode  rapidly  past 
them.     "New  l''rance  will  be  proud  of  them  s  )me  day!" 

The  rest  of  the  company  now  began  to  arrive  in  (juick 
succession.  The  lawn  was  crowded  with  guests.  "Ten 
thousand  thanks  for  coming!"  exclaimed  Pierre  I'hilibert, 
as  he  assisted  Anu'liede  Repentigny  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly 
to  alight  from  their  carriage. 

"  We  could  not  choose  but  come  today,  Pierre,"  replied 
Amelie,  feeling  without  displeasure  the  momentary  linger- 
ing of  his  hand  as  it  touched  hers.  "  Nothing  short  of  an 
earth([uake  would  have  kept  aunt  at  home,"  added  she, 
darting  a  merry  ghmce  of  sympathy  with  her  aunt's  sup- 
posed feelings. 

"  And  you,  Amelie  ?  "  Pierre  looked  into  those  dark 
eyes  which  shyly  turned  aside  from  his  gaze. 

"  I  was  an  obedient  niece,  and  accompanied  her.  It  is 
so  easy  to  persuade  people  to  go  where  they  wish  to  go." 
She  withdr<:!,v  her  hand  gently,  and  took  his  arm  as  he 
conducted  tlie  ladies  into  the  house.  She  felt  a  Hush  on 
her  cheek,  but  it  did  not  prevent  her  saying  in  her  frank 
kindly  way,  "I  was  glad  to  come  to  day,  Pierre,  to  witness 
this  gathering  of  the  best  and  noblest  in  the  land  to  honor 
your  fete.  Aunt  de  Tilly  has  always  predicted  greatness 
for  you." 

"  And  you,  Amelie,  doubted,  knowing  me  a  shade  better 
than  your  aunt.'' " 

"  No,  I  believed  her!  so  true  a  prophet  as  aunt  surely 
deserved  one  firm  believer!" 

Pierre  felt  the  electric  thrill  run  through  him  which  a 
man  feels  at  the  moment  he  discovers  a  woman  believes  in 
him.  "  Your  presence  here  to-day,  Amelie,  you  cannot 
think  how  sweet  it  is,"  said  he. 

Her  hand  trembled  upon  his  arm.  She  thought  noth- 
ing could  be  sweeter  than  such  words  from  Pierre  Phil- 
ibert.  With  a  charming  indirectness,  however,  which  did 
not  escape  him,  she  replied,  "  Le  Gardeur  is  very  proud 
of  you  to  day,  Pierre." 

He  laid  his  fingers  upon  her  hand.  It  was  a  delicate 
little  hand,  but   with   the    strength   of   an  angel's  it  had 


2l6 


THE  cm  EN  n  OR, 


'  M 


mouldcfl  his  destiny  and  led  iiiin  to  the  honorable  position 
he  had  att,iinc'<l.  He  was  profoundly  conscious  at  this 
moment  of  what  he  owed  to  this  j^iil's  silent  influence. 
He  contented  himself,  however,  with  saying  "  I  will  so 
strive  that  one  day,  Ami'lie  de  Repentigny  shall  not  shame 
to  say,  she  too,  is  proud  of  me." 

She  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  A  tremor  agitated 
her  low  sweet  voice.  "  I  am  proud  of  you  now,  Pierre, 
more  proud  than  words  can  tell  to  see  you  so  honored, 
and  proudest  to  think  you  deserve  it  all." 

Jt  touched   him  almost    to    tears.     "  Thanks,  Amelie, 
when  you  are  proud  (A  me  I    shall  begin  to   feel  pride  of 
myself.     Your  ojjinion  is  the  one  thing  in  life  I  have  most 
cared  for,  your  approbation  is  my  best  reward," 

Her  eycs  were  elofiucnt  with  unspoken  words,  but  she 
thought,  "  If  that  was  all  !  "  Pierre  Philibert  had  long 
received  the  silent  reward  of  her  good  opinion  and  appro- 
bation. 

The  P>ourgeois  at  this  moment  came  up  to  salute 
Amelie  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly. 

"The  Hourgeois  Philibert  has  the  most  perfect  man- 
ner of  any  gentleman  in  New  France,"  was  the  remark  of 
the  Lady  de  Tilly  to  Amelie,  as  he  left  them  again,  to 
receive  other  guests,  "  They  say  he  can  be  rough  and 
iniperious  sometimes  to  those  he  dislikes,  but  to  his  friends 
and  strangers,  and  especially  to  ladies,  no  breath  of  spring 
can  be  more  fjentle  and  balmv."  Amelie  assented  with  a 
mental  reservation  in  the  depths  of  her  dark  eyes,  and  in 
the  dimple  that  flashed  upon  her  cheek,  as  she  suppressed 
the  utterance  of  a  pleasant  fancy  in  reply  to  her  aunt. 

Pierre  conducted  the  ladies  to  the  great  drawing-room 
which  was  already  filled  with  company  who  overwhelmed 
Amelie  and  her  aunt  with  the  vivacity  of  their  greeting. 

The  conversation  was  light,  but  it  sparkled  with  gayety. 
'^I'here  was  a  ready  interchange  of  the  current  coin  of 
society. 

The  philosophers  who  essayed  the  extraction  of  sun- 
beams out  of  cucumbers,  would  have  found  their  experi- 
ment a  success,  in  the  ease  with  which  the  gay  society  of 
New  France  extracted  social  sunbeams  from  topics  out  of 
which  graver  people  would  have  drawn  only  the  essence  of 
dulness  and  stupidity. 

This  cheerful  temperament  of  the  old  Gallic  colonists, 


-I 


nELMONT. 


217 


has  descended  unimpaired  to  their  posterity.  The  Kn<jjh"sh 
concjuesl  whicii  chan^jed  so  many  thin<j;s,  could  not  dull  the 
native  gaycty  of  the  French  C'anadians,  and  tlie  <;rave  Kng- 
lish  character  is  all  the  belter  for  the  dash  of  I''rench 
vivacity  and  <;race  which  leavens  the  new  nationality  that 
is  growing  up  in  Canada  ;  neither  purely  French  nor 
English  but  a  happy  mixture  of  the  best  elcni'-nts  of  both. 

\\\  a  fine  shady  grove,  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
house,  a  row  of  tables  was  set  for  the  entertaiiuncnt  of 
several  hundreds  of  the  hardy  dependents  of  the  IJourgeois, 
for  while  feasting  the  rich  the  bourgeois  would  not  forget 
his  po(jrer  friends,  and  i)erhaps  his  most  extiuisite  satisfac- 
tion was  in  the  unrestrained  enjoynient  of  his  hospitality 
by  the  crowd  of  happy  hungry  fellows  and  their  families, 
who  under  the  direction  of  his  chief  Factor,  filled  the 
tables  from  end  to  end,  and  made  the  ]iark  resound  with 
songs  and  merriment,  l^'ellows  of  inlinite  gayety,  with 
appetites  of  Gargantuas,  and  a  capacity  for  good  liquors, 
that  reminded  one  of  the  tubs  of  the  Danaides.  The 
tables  groaned  beneath  mountains  of  good  things,  and  in 
the  centre  of  each,  like  Mfnmt  IManc  rising  from  the  lower 
Alps,  stood  a  magnificent  Easter  pie,  the  onfection  of 
which  was  a  masterpiece  of  the  skill  of  Maitre  Guillot 
Gobet,  the  head  cook  of  the  Bourgeois,  who  was  rather 
put  out,  however,  when  Dame  Rochelle  decided  to  bestow 
all  the  Easter  pies  upon  the  hungry  voyageurs,  woodmen, 
and  workmen,  and  banished  them  from  the  menu  of  the 
more  patrician  tables  set  for  the  guests  of  the  mansion. 

"Yet  after  all,"  exclaimed  Master  Guillot,  as  he  thrust 
his  head  out  of  the  kitchen  door  to  listen  to  the  song  the 
gay  fellows  were  singing  with  all  their  lungs,  in  honor  of 
his  Easter  jjie.  "  After  all  ;  the  fine  gentlemen  and  ladies 
would  not  have  paid  my  noble  pies  such  honor  as  that  I 
and  what  is  more  the  pies  would  not  have  been  eaten  up 
to  the  last  crumb  !  "  Master  Guillot's  face  beamed  like  a 
harvest  moon,  as  he  chimed  in  with  the  well  known  ditty 
in  praise  of  the  great  pie  of  Rouen. 


"  C'est  dans  la  ville  de  Rouen, 
lis  ont  fait  un  pato  si  grand, 
lis  ont  fait  un  patci  si  grand, 
Qu'ils  ont  trouve  un  homrae  dedans  | 


S  :> 


I 


'I* 
ill 


4i  li 


218 


77//i  Cim-W  D'OR. 


Mastor  Guillot  vvoukl  fain  have  been  nearer  to  share  in 
the  shouting  and  cla|)i)in<^  of  hands  which  followed  the 
sayinj;  of  j^iace  i)y  the  ^ood  Cure  of  St,  I-'oye,  and  to  see 
how  viLjoroiisly  knives  were  handled,  and  how  chins 
vva<jj^ed  in  the  delightful  task  of  levellin<;  down  mountains 
of  meat,  while  (lascon  wine  and  Norman  cider  flowed  from 
ever  replenished  flaf^ons. 

The  IJoiir^^cois  and  his  son,  with  many  of  his  chief 
guests,  honored  for  a  time  the  merry  feast  out  of  doors, 
and  were  almost  inundated  by  the  flowing  cups  drank  to 
the  health  and  happiness  of  the  ]Jourgeois  and  of  Pierre 
Philibert. 

Master  Guillot  (lobet  returned  to  his  kitchen  where  he 
stirred  up  his  cooks  and  sculli(jns  on  all  sides  to  make  up 
for  the  loss  of  his  Kaster  pies  on  the  grand  tables  in  the 
Hall.  He  capered  among  them  like  a  marionette,  direct- 
ing here,  scfdding  there,  laughing,  joking,  or  with  uplifted 
hands  and  stami)ing  feet  despairing  of  his  underlings 
cooking  a  dinner  lit  for  the  fete  of  Pierre  Philibert. 

Master  Guillot  was  a  little,  fat,  red-nosed  fellow,  with 
twinkling  black  eyes,  and  a  mouth  irascible  as  that  of  a 
cake-baker  of  T>erna.  His  heart  was  of  the  right  paste, 
however,  and  full  as  a  butler-boat  of  the  sweet  sauce  of 
good-nature,  which  he  was  ready  to  pour  over  the  heads  of 
all  his  fellows  who  quietly  submitted  to  his  dictation.  But 
woe  to  man  or  maid-servant  who  delayed  or  disputed  his 
royal  orders  !  An  Indian  typhoon  instantly  blew.  At 
such  a  time,  even  Dame  Rochelle  would  gather  her  petti- 
coats round  her,  and  hurry  out  of  the  storm,  which  always 
subsideil  c[uickly  in  proportion  to  the  violence  of  its  rage. 

Master  Guillot  knew  what  he  was  about,  however. 
"  He  did  not  use,"  he  said,  ''to  wipe  his  nose  with  a  her- 
ring! and  on  that  day  he  was  going  to  cook  a  dinner  fit 
for  the  Pope,  after  Lent,  or  even  for  the  Reverend  Father 
I  e  Berey  himself,  who  was  the  ixncst  gourmet  :in<X  the  best 
trenrherman  in  New  France." 

Master  (iuillot  honored  his  master,  but  in  his  secret 
soul  he  did  not  think  his  taste  quite  worthy  of  his  cook ! 
But  he  worshi]D|)ed  Father  l)e  Berey,  and  gloried  in  the 
infallible  judgment  and  correct  taste  of  cookery  possessed 
by  the  jolly  Recollet.  The  single  approbation  of  Fatlier 
De  Bsrey  was  worth  more  than  the  praise  of  a  world  full 
of  ordinary  eating  mortals,  who  smacked  their  lips  and 


1 


! 


i 


i: 


BELMONT. 


219 


\k 


said  tliinjTs  were  jijnofl,  Init  who  knew  no  more  than  one  of 
the  Cent  S///sst's  why  thini,^s  were  i^ood,  or  could  ai)preci.ite 
the  talents  of  an  artiste  of  the  conlon  hlen. 

Master  Guillot's  ICaster  I'ie  had  been  a  splendid  suc- 
cess. "  It  w.is  worthy,"  he  said,  "  to  be  ])laeed  as  a  crown 
on  lop  of  the  new  Cathedral  of  St.  Marie,  and  receive  the 
consecration  of  the  Hishop." 

Lest  the  composition  of  it  should  be  forj^otten,  Master 
Guillot  had,  with  the  solemnity  of  a  deacon  intoning  the 
Litany,  ravished  the  ear  of  Jules  I'ainchaud,  his  futu.e  son- 
in  law,  as  he  tauj^ht  him  the  secrets  of  its  confection. 

With  his  while  cap  set  rakishlyon  one  side  of  his  head, 
and  arms  akimbo,  Master  Guillot  gave  Jules  the  famous 
recipe  : — 

"  Inside  of  circular  walls  of  pastry,  an  inch  thick,  and 
so  rich  as  easily  to  be  pulled  down,  and  roomy  enough 
within  for  the  Court  of  King  Pepin,  lay  first  a  lhi<  1  tratum 
of  mince-Mieat,  of  two  savory  hams  of  \V<stph;iIi  1.  and  if 
you  cannot  gel  them,  of  two  hams  of  our  lubitaii . 

"Of  our  hahitans  i  ^^  ejaculated  Jules,  with  an  air  of 
consternation. 

"Precisely!  don't  interrupt  me!"  Master  Guillot 
grew  red  about  the  gills  in  an  instant.  Jules  was  silenced. 
"  I  have  said  it !  "  cried  he  ;"  two  hams  of  our  habitaiis T^ 
what  have  you  to  say  against  it,  Slock  Pish,  eh  .''  " 

"  Oh  nothing,  sir,"  replied  Jules,  with  humility,  ''only  I 
thought — "  Poor  Jules  would  have  consented  to  eat  his 
thought,  rather  than  fall  out  with  the  father  of  his  Suzclle. 

"  Vou  thought!"  Master  Guillot's  face  was  a  study 
for  Hogarth,  who  alone  could  have  painted  the  alto  lone 
of  voice  as  it  proceeded  from  his  round  O  of  a  mouth. 
"  Suzetle  shall  remain  upon  my  hands  an  old  maid  for  the 
term  of  her  natural  life,  if  you  dispute  the  confection  of 
Easier  Pie  !  " 

"Now  listen,  Jules,"  continued  he,  at  once  modified  by 
the  contrite  submissive  air  of  his  future  son-in-law.  "  Upon 
the  foundation  of  the  mince-meal  of  two  hams  of  West- 
phalia, or,  if  you  cannot  get  them,  of  two  hams  of  our 
habUans  ;  place  scientifically  the  nicely  cut  jjieces  of  a  fat 
turkey,  leaving  his  head  to  slick  out  of  the  upper  crust,  in 
evidence  that  ^'^aster  Dindon  lies  buried  there!  Add  two 
fat  capons,  two  plunij)  p  iiiridgcs,  two  pigeons,  and  the  back 
and  Ihiglia  of  a  brace  of  juicy  hares,     iill  up  the  whole 


220 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


•i?   i 


I)   , 


:i 


iji: 


J 


with  beaten  eggs  and  the  rich  contents  will  resemble,  as  a 
poet  might  say,  '  fossils  of  the  rock  in  golden  yolks  em- 
bedded and  enjellied  !  '  Season  as  you  would  a  Saint ! 
Cover  with  a  siab  of  pastry,  liake  it  as  you  would  cook 
an  angel,  and  not  singe  a  feather.  Then  let  it  cool,  and 
eat  it  !  And  then,  Jules, as  the  Reverend  Father  l)e  Ber- 
ey  alwavs  says  after  grace  over  an  Easter  Pie,  '  Domhius 
Vobisaim  I '  " 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


SIC     TTUR     AD     ASTRA. 


The  old  hall  of  P)elmont  had  been  decorated  for  many 
a  feast  sitice  the  times  of  its  founder,  the  Intendant  Talon  ; 
but  it  had  never  contained  a  nobler  company  of  fair  women 
and  bra\e  men  the  jjick  and  choice  of  their  race  than 
to-day  met  round  the  hosj^ilable  and  splendid  lal)le  of  Ihe 
Bourgeois  Philibert,  in  honor  of  the/r/f  of  his  gallant  son. 

Dinner  was  duly  and  decorously  despatched.  The 
social  fashions  of  New  France  was  not  for  the  ladies  to 
withdraw  when  the  wine  followed  the  feast,  but  to  remain 
seated  with  the  gentlemen,  purifying  the  conversation,  and 
by  their  presence  restraining  the  coarsen'jss,  which  was  the 
almost  universal  vice  of  the  age. 

A  troop  of  nimble  servitors  carried  off  the  carved 
dishes  and  fragments  of  the  splendid  patisseries  of  Master 
Guillot,  in  such  a  state  of  demolition  as  satisfied  the  crit- 
ical eye  of  the  chief  cook  that  the  efforts  of  his  genius  had 
been  very  successful.  He  inspected  the  dishes  through 
his  spectacles.  He  knew  by  what  was  left  the  ability  of 
the  guests  to  discriminate  what  they  hid  eaten,  and  do 
justice  to  his  skill  !  He  considered  himself  a  sort  of  per- 
vading divinity,  whose  culinary  ideas  passing  with  his 
cookery  into  the  bodies  of  the  guests,  enabled  them,  on  re- 
tiring fiom  the  feast,  to  carry  away  as  j^art  of  themselves 
some  of  the  line  essence  of  Master  Cobet  himself. 

At  the  head  of  his  table,  ])eeling  oranges  and  slicing 
pineajjples  for  the  ladies  in  his  vicinity  sat  the  Bourgeois 
himself,    laughing,   jesting   and    telling   anecdotes  with  a 


SIC  ITUR  AD  ASTRA. 


221 


geniality  tliat  \v;is  contn^jious.  "  The  c^ods  are  merry  some- 
times, says  Hoiner,  ancl  their  laiij^htcr  shakes  Olympus  !  " 
was  the  classical  remark  of  Father  I)e  Herey,  at  the  other 
end  of  the  table.  Jupiter  did  not  laugh  with  less  loss  of 
dignity  than  the  Bourgeois, 

The  sun  was  setting  in  a  sea  of  splendor,  visible  through 
an  oriel  window  in  the  gr^at  hall.  His  slanting  golden 
rays  caught  the  crisp-grizzled  locks  of  the  master  of  the 
feast,  and  preternaturally  illumined  his  noble  face,  bring- 
ing out  every  feature  and  line  of  it  with  marvellou-i  etTects, 
as  if  to  makij  a  picture  which  men  could  remember  in  after 
years  ;  and  few  of  the  guests  did  not  remember  to  the  end 
of  their  lives  the  majestic  and  happy  countenance  of  the 
Bourgeois  on  this  memoral)le  day. 

At  his  rigiit  hand  sat  Ami-lie  de  Kepentigny  and  the 
Count  I)e  La  Gallisoniere.  The  Governor,  charmed  with 
the  beauty  and  agreeableness  of  the  young  Chatelaine,  had 
led  her  into  dimier,  and  devoted  himself  to  her  and  the 
Lady  De  Tilly  with  the  perfection  of  gallantry  of  a  gentle- 
man of  the  politest  court  in  Europe.  On  his  left  sat 
the  radiant  dark-eyed  Hortense  de  Beauharnois.  With 
a  gay  assumption  of  independence,  Hortense  had 
taken  the  arm  of  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  and  declared  she 
would  eat  no  dinner  unless  he  would  be  her  cavalier,  and 
sit  beside  her  !  The  gallant  old  soldier  surrendered  at  dis- 
cretion. "  He  laughingly  consented  to  be  her  captive,"  he 
said,  "  for  he  had  no  power  anil  no  desire  but  to  obey." 
Hortense  was  jjroud  of  her  conquest.  She  seated  herself 
by  his  side  with  an  air  of  triumph  and  mock  gravity,  tap- 
ping him  with  her  fan  whenever  she  detected  his  eye  rov- 
ing round  the  table,  comp.issionating,  she  affirmed,  her 
rivals,  who  had  failed  where  she  had  won  in  securing  the 
youngest,  the  handsomest  and  most  gallant  of  all  the  gen- 
tlemen at  Belmont ! 

"  Not  so  fast,  Hortense!"  exclaimed  the  gay  Cheval- 
ier ;  "  you  have  captured  me  by  mistake  !  The  tall  Swede. 
Ke  is  your  man  !  The  other  ladies  all  know  that,  and  are 
anxious  to  get  me  out  of  your  toils,  so  that  you  may  be 
free  to  ensnare  the  Philosopher  !  " 

"  But  you  don't  WMsh  to  get  away  from  me  .''  I  am  your 
garland.  Chevalier,  and  you  shall  wear  me  to-day.  As  for 
the  tall  Swede,  he  aas  no  idea  of  a  fair  flower  of  our  sex, 
except  to  wear  it  at  his  button-hole,  this  way !  "  added  she 


222 


THE  CIIIEIV  D'OR. 


i 


pullinjT  a  rose  out  of  a  vase  and  archly  adorning  the  Chev- 
alier's vest  with  it. 

"All  pretence  and  jealousy,  Mademoiselle.  The  tall 
Swede  knows  how  to  take  down  your  pride,  and  bring  you 
to  a  proper  sense  of  your  false  conceit  of  the  beauty  and 
wit  of  the  ladies  of  New  France." 

Hortense  gave  two  or  three  tosses  of  defiance  to  ex- 
press her  enijDhatic  dissent  from  his  opinions. 

"  I  wish  rierr  Kalm  would  lend  me  his  philosophic 
scales  to  weigh  your  sex  like  lambs  in  market,"  contin- 
ued La  Corne  St.  Luc ;  "  but  I  f;3ar  I  am  too  old,  Hor- 
tense, to  measure  women  except  by  the  fathom,  which  is 
the  measure  of  a  man." 

"And  the  measure  of  a  man  is  the  measure  of  an 
angel,  too!  Srri/^fumrstf  Chevalier."  replied  she.  Hortense 
had  ten  merry  meanings  in  her  eye,  and  looked  as  if  liid- 
ding  him  select  which  he  chose.  *' The  learned  Swx'de's 
philosophy  is  lost  upon  me,"  continued  she.  "  He  can 
neither  weigh  by  sample  nor  measure  by  fathom  the  girls 
of  New  France  !  "  She  tapped  him  on  the  arm.  "  Listen 
tome.  Chevalier,"  said  she ;  "you  are  neglecting  meal- 
ready  for  sake  of  Cecile  Tourangeau  !  ".  La  Corne  was 
exchanging  some  gay  badinage  with  a  graceful,  pretty 
young  lady,  on  the  c  ^her  side  of  the  table,  whose  snowy 
forehead,  if  you  examined  it  closely,  was  marked  with  a 
red  scar,  in  figure  of  a  cross,  which  although  powdered 
and  partially  concealed  by  a  frieze  of  her  thick  blonde  hair, 
was  sufficiently  distinct  to  those  who  looked  for  it;  and 
many  did  so,  as  they  whispered  to  each  other  the  story  of 
how  she  got  it. 

Le  Girdeur  de  Repentigny  sat  by  Cecile,  talking  in  a 
very  sociable  manner,  which  was  also  commented  on.  His 
conversation  seemed  to  be  very  attractive  to  the  young  lady, 
who  was  visibly  delighted  with  the  attentions  of  her  hand- 
some gallant. 

At  this  moment  a  burst  of  instruments  from  the  musi- 
cians who  occujiied  a  gallery  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  an- 
nounced a  vocal  response  to  the  toast  of  the  King's  health, 
pro|:)osed  by  the  Hourgeoi ,.  "  Prepare  yourself  for  the 
chorus,  Chevalier,"  exclaimed  Hortense.  "Father  de 
Berey  is  going  to  lead  the  royal  anthem  !" 

'•'•  Vive  Ir  Koi  I'"  replied  La  Corne.  "No  finer  voice 
ever  sang  Mass,  nor  chanted  '  God   Save  the  King  I '     I 


STC  TTUR  AD  ASTRA. 


223 


like  to  hear  the  royal  anthem  from  the  lips  of  a  churchman, 
rolling  it  out,  ore  rofHfuio,  like  one  of  the  Psalms  of  David. 
Our  first  dutv  is  to  love  God — our  next  to  honor  the  Iv'iijr! 
and  New  France  will  never  fail  in  cither  !  "  Lovaltv  was 
ingrained  in  every  fibre  of  La  ('orne  St.  Luc. 
"Never,  Chevalier.  Law  and  Gospel  rule  together,  or 
fall  together  !  But  we  must  rise,"  replied  Hortense  spring- 
ing up. 

I'lie  whole  company  rose  simultaneously.  The  rich, 
mellow  voice  of  the  Rev,  Father  de  Berey,  round  and  full 
as  the  organ  of  St.  Marie,  commenced  the  royal  anthem, 
composed  by  Lulli  in  honor  of  Louis  ()uatorze,  upon  an 
occasion  of  his  visit  to  the  famous  convent  of  St.  Cyr,  in 
company  with  ]\Lidame  de  Maintenon. 

The  song  composed  by  Madame  Brinon  was  afterwards 
translated  into  English,  and.  words  and  music  became,  by  a 
singular  transposition,  the  national  hymn  of  the  English 
nation. 

'  God  Save  the  King  ! '  is  no  longer  heard  in  France. 
It  was  burie('  with  the  people's  loyalty,  fathoms  deep  under 
the  ruins  of  the  monarchy.  But  it  fl(nu-ishes  still  with 
pristine  vigor  in  New  France,  that  olive  branch  grafted  on 
the  stately  tree  of  the  British  Empire.  The  broad  chest 
and  flexile  lips  of  Father  de  Berey  rang  out  the  grand  c  Id 
song  in  tones  that  filled  the  stately  old  hall. 

Grand  Dicu  !  Sauvez  ie  Roi ! 
Grand  Dicu  !  Sauvez  Ic  Roi ! 
Sauvez  Ic  Roi  ! 
Que  toujours  gloricux. 
Louis  Victorieux, 
_  Vove  ses  ennemis 

Toujours  soumis  1 


The  company  all  joined  in  the  chorus,  the  gentlemen 
raising  their  cups,  the  ladies  waving  their  handkerchiefs, 
and  male  and  female  blending  in  a  storm  of  applause  that 
made  the  old  walls  ring  with  joy.  Songs  and  speeches 
followed  in  quick  succession,  cutting  as  with  a  golden 
blade  the  hours  of  the  dessert  into  quinzaines  of  varied 
pleasures. 

The  custom  of  the  times  had  reduced  speech  making 
after  dinner  to  a  minimum.  The  ladies,  as  Father  de  Be- 
rey wittily  remarked,  preferred  private  confession  to  public 


7 


«s 


224 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


H  * 


nil 


m 


preaching  ;  and  long  speeches  without  inlets  for  reply 
were  the  eighth  mortal  sin  which  no  lady  would  forgive. 

The  Bourgeois,  however,  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him- 
self to  express  his  deep  thanks  for  the  honor  done  his 
house  on  tiiis  auspicious  occasion.  And  he  remarked  that 
"  the  doors  of  Belmont,  so  long  closed  by  reason  of  the 
absence  of  Pierre,  would  hereafter  be  ever  open  to  welcome 
all  his  friends.  He  had  tnat  day  made  a  gift  of  lielmont, 
with  all  its  belongings,  to  Pierre,  and  "he  hoped — "  (the 
Bourgeois  smiled  as  he  said  this,  but  he  would  not  look  in 
a  quarter  where  his  words  struck  home,)  "  He  hoped  that 
some  one  of  Quebec's  fair  daughters  would  assist  Pierre 
in  the  menage  of  his  home,  and  enable  him  to  do  honor 
to  his  housekeeping." 

Immense  was  the  applause  that  followed  the  short, 
pithy  speech  of  the  Bourgeois.  The  ladies  blushed  and 
praised,  the  gentlemen  cheered,  and  enjoyed  in  anticipa- 
tion the  renewal  c     he  old  hospitalities  of  Belmont. 

"The  skies  are  raining  plum  cakes !"  exclaimed  the 
Chevalier  La  Corne  to  his  lively  comj)anion.  "  Joy's  gold- 
en drops  are  only  distilled  in  the  Alembic  of  woman's 
heart!  \Miat  think  you,  Hortense  ?  which  of  Quebec's  fair 
daughters  will  be  willing  to  share  Belmont  with  Pierre  .''" 

"Oh,  any  of  them  would?"  replied  she.  "  But  why  did 
the  Bourgeois  restrict  his  choice  to  the  ladies  of  Quebec, 
when  he  knew  1  came  from  the  'I'hree  Rivers  ?  " 

'*  O,  he  was  afraid  of  you,  Hortense  !  You  would 
make  Belmont  too  good  for  this  world  !  What  say  you, 
Father  de  lierey?     Do  you  ever  walk  on  the  cape? 

The  friar,  in  a  merry  mood,  had  been  edging  close  to 
Hortense.  "I  love,  of  all  things,  to  air  my  gray  gown  on 
the  cape  of  a  breezy  afternoon,"  replied  the  jovial  Recol- 
let,  "when  the  fashionables  are  all  out,  and  every  lady  is 
putting  her  best  foot  foremost.  It  is  then  I  feel  sure  that 
Horace  is  the  next  best  thing  to  the  Homilies  : 

Teretesque  suras  laudo,  et  integer  ego  I 

The  Chevalier  I.a  Corne  pinched  the  shrugging  should- 
er of  Hortense  as  he  remarked  :  "  Don't  confess  to  Father 
de  Berey  that  you  promenade  on  the  cape  !  But  I  hope 
Pierre  Philibert  will  soon  make  his  choice  I  We  are  im- 
patient to  visit  him  and  give  old  Provencal  the  butler  a  run 


MMM 


S/C  ITUR  AD  ASTRA. 


'25 


every   day   through   those    dark   crypts  of  his,    where  lie 
entombed  the  ciioicest  vintages  of  sunny  France." 

The  Chevalier  said  this  waggishly,  for  the  benefit  of 
old  Proven(;al,  who  stood  behincl  his  chair  looking  half 
alarmed  at  the   threatened  raid  upon  his  well-filled  cellars. 

"  Jkit  if  Pierre  should  not  commit  matrimony,"  replied 
Hortense,  "  what  will  become  of  him  ?  and  especially  what 
will  become  of  us  t  " 

"  We  will  drink  his  wine  all  the  same,  good  fellow  that 
he  is  !  But  Pierre  had  as  lief  commit  suicide  as  not  com- 
mit matrimony  ;  and  who  would  not  ?  Look  here,  Pierre 
Philibert,"  continued  the  old  soldier,  addressing  him  with 
good-humored  freedom,  ''  Matrimony  is  clearly  your  duty, 
Pierre,  but  1  need  not  tell  you  so.  It  is  written  on  your 
face  plain  as  the  way  between  Peronne  and  St.  Quintin  ! 
A  good  honest  way  as  ever  was  trod  by  shoe  leather,  and 
as  old  as  Chinon  in  Touraine !  Try  it  soon,  my  boy. 
Quebec  is  a  sack  full  of  pearls!"  Hortense  pulled  him 
mischievously  by  the  coat,  so  he  caught  her  hand  and  held 
it  fast  in  his,  while  he  proceeded  :  "You  put  your  hand  in 
the  sack  and  take  out  the  first  that  offers.  It  will  be  worth 
a  Jew's  ransom  !  If  you  are  lucky  to  find  tiie  fairest,  trust 
me  it  will  be  the  identical  )3earl  of  great  price  for  which 
the  merchant  went  and  sold  all  that  he  had  and  bought  it. 
Is  not  that  (losi)el,  Father  de  Pierey  ?  I  think  I  have  heard 
something  like  that  preached  from  the  pulpit  of  the  Recol- 
lets  ? " 

"  Matter  of  Brimborion  !  Chevalier  !  not  to  questioned 
by  laymen  !  Words  of  wisdom  for  my  poor  brothers  of  '-'t. 
Francis,  who  after  renou'icing  the  world  like  to  know  that 
they  have  renounced  something  worth  ha\ing  !  J'ut  not  to 
preach  a  sermcm  on  your  parable.  Chevalier,  I  will  pro- 
mise Colonel  Philibert  that  when  he  has  found  the  pearl  of 
great  price, — "  Father  de  Berey,  who  knew  a  world  of 
.secrets,  glanced  archly  at  Amelie  as  he  said  this, — *'  the 
bells  of  our  monastery  shall  ring  out  such  a  merry  peal  as 
they  have  not  rung  since  fat  Brother  Le  Gros  broke  his 
wind,  and  short  Brother  Bref  stretched  himself  out  half 
a  yard  pulling  the  bell  ropes  on  the  wedding  of  the  Dauphin. 

Great  merriment  followed  the  speech  of  Father  de  Berev. 
Hortense  rallied  the  Chevalier,  a  good  old  widower,  upon 
himself  not  travelling  the  plain  way  between  Peronne  and 
St.  Quintin,  and  jestingly  otTered  herself  to    travel  with 

IS 


'if  r 


il 


lliif 


(I 


226 


T//JS  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


him  like  a  couple  of  gypsies,  carrying  their  budget  of  happi- 
ness pick  a  back  through  the  world. 

"IJetter  than  that !  "  LaCorne  exclaimed,  "  Hortense  was 
worthy  to  ride  on  the  baggage-wagons  in  his  next  campaign  ! 
Would  she  go  ?  "  She  gave  him  iier  hand  "  I  expect  noth- 
ing else  !  "  said  she.  "I  am  a  soldier's  daughter,  and  expect 
to  live  a  soldier's  wife,  and  die  a  soldier's  widow.  But  a 
tnice  io  jest.  It  is  harder  to  be  witty  than  wise,"  continued 
she.  "What  is  the  matter  with  Cousin  Le  (Jardeur  ?"  Her 
eyes  were  lixed  upon  him  as  he  read  a  note  just  handed  to 
him  by  a  servant.  He  crushed  it  in  his  hand  with  a  Hash  of 
anger,  and  made  a  motion  as  if  about  to  tear  it,  but  did  not. 
He  placed  it  in  his  bosom.     But  the  hilaritvof  his  counten- 


ance was  gone 


There  was  another  person  seated  at  the  table,  whose 
quick  eye,  drawn  by  sisterly  affection,  saw  Le  Gardeur's 
movement  before  even  Hortense.  Amc'lie  was  impatient 
to  leave  her  seat  and  go  beside  him,  but  she  could  not  at 
the  moment  leave  the  !  ly  circle  around  her.  She  at  once 
conjectured  that  the  noic  was  froiri  Ange'lique  des  Meloises. 
After  drinking  deeply  two  or  three  time  Le  Gardeur  arose, 
and  with  a  faint  excuse  that  did  not  impose  on  his  partner, 
left  the  table.  Amelie  rose  quickly  also,  excusing  herself 
to  tiie  Iiourgeois  and  joined  her  brother  in  the  park,  where 
the  cool  night  air  blew  fresh  and  inviting  for  a  walk. 

Pretty  Cecile  Touraugeau  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
handwriting  as  she  sat  by  the  side  of  Le  Gardeur,  and 
guessed  correctly  whence  it  had  come,  and  why  her  partner 
so  suddenly  left  the  table. 

She  was  out  of  humor,  the  red  mark  upon  her  forehead 
grew  redder  as  she  pouted  in  visible  discontent.  But  the 
great  world  moves  on,  carrying  alternate  storms  and  sun- 
shine upon  its  surface.  The  company  rose  from  the, table. 
Some  to  the  ball-room,  some  to  the  park  and  conservatories. 
Cecile's  was  a  happy  disposition,  easily  consoled  for  her 
sorrows.  Every  trace  of  her  displeasure  was  banished  and 
almost  forgotten  from  the  moment  the  gay,  handsome 
Jumonvillede  AMlliers  invited  her  out  to  the  grand  balcony, 
where  he  said,  '*  the  rarest  pastime  was  going  on  !  " 

And  rare  pastime  it  was  !  A  group  of  laughing  but  half 
serious  girls  were  gathered  round  Doctor  Gaulhier,  urging 
him  to  tell  their  fortunes  by  consulting  the  stars,  which 
to-night  shone  out  with  unusual  brilliancy. 


SIC  ITlrR  AD  ASTRA. 


227 


At  thrit  period,  as  at  the  present,  and  in  every  aoje  of  the 
world,  the  female  sex,  hke  the  Jews  of  old,  asks  signs, 
while  the  (Greeks,  that  is  the  men,  seek  wisdom. 

The  time  never  was,  and  never  will  be,  when  a  woman 
will  cease  to  be  curious,  when  her  imajrination  will  not  fore- 
cast the  decrees  of  fate  in  rei^ard  to  the  culminating  eventof 
her  life,  and  her  whole  nature — marriat^e.  It  was  in  vain 
Doctor  Gauthier  protested  his  inability  to  read  the  stars 
without  his  celestial  evesjlasses. 

The  ladies  would  not  accept  his  excuses,  "  He  knew  the 
heavens  by  heart,"  they  said,  "  and  could  read  the  stars  of 
destiny  as  easily  as  the  I'ishop  his  breviary." 

In  t  ath  the  worthy  doctor  was  not  only  a  believer,  but 
an  adept  in  astrology.  He  had  favored  his  friends  with  not 
a  few  horoscopes  and  nativities  when  pressed  to  do 
so.  His  good  nature  was  of  the  substance  of  butter,  any 
one  that  liked  could  spread  it  over  their  bread.  Many  good 
men  are  eaten  up  in  that  way  by  greedy  friends. 

Hortense  beauharnois  urged  the  Doctor  so  merrily  and  so 
perseveringly,  promising  to  marry  him  herself,  if  the  stars 
said  so,  that  he  laughingly  gave  way,  but  declared  "  he 
would  tell  Hortense's  fortune  first,  which  deserved  to  be 
good  enough  to  make  herfultil  her  jiromise  just  made. 

"  She  was  resigned,"  she  said,  "  nnd  would  accej5t  any 
fate  from  the  rank  of  a  ()ueen  to  a  cell  among  the  old 
maids  of  St.  Cyr  !  The  girls  of  Quebec  hung  all  their  hopes 
on  the  stars,  bright  and  particular  ones  esj)ecially.  They 
were  too  loving  to  live  single,  and  too  proud  to  live  poor. 
But  she  was  one  who  would  not  wait  for  ships  to  land  that 
never  came,  and  plums  to  drop  into  her  mouth  that 
never  ripened.  Hortense  would  be  ruled  by  the  stars,  and 
wise  Doctor  (iauthier  should  to-night  declare  her  fate." 

They  all  laughed  at  this  free  talk  of  Hortense.  Not  a 
few  of  the  ladies  shrugged  their  shoulders  and  looked 
askance  at  each  other,  but  many  present  wished  they  had 
courage  to  speak  like  her  to  Doctor  Crauthier. 

"  Well  !  I  see  there  is  nothing  else  for  it  but  to  submit 
to  my  ruling  star,  and  that  is  you,  Hortense  !  "  cried  the 
Doctor.  "  So  please  stand  up  before  me  while  I  take  an 
inventory  of  your  looks,  as  a  preliminary  to  telling  your 
fortune." 

Hortense  placed  herself  instantly  before  him.  "  It  is  one 
of  the  privileges  of  our  dry  study,"  remarked  he,  as  he 


■ 


228 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


\ 


[i 


looked  arliiiiriiij;ly  on  the  tall  charming  figure  and  frank 
countenance  of  the  girl  before  him. 

"The  (^uerente,"  said  lie  gravely,  "is  tall,  straight, 
slender,  arms  long,  hands  and  feet  of  the  smallest,  hair  just 
short  of  blackness,  piercing,  roving  eyes,  dark  as  night  and 
full  of  fire,  sight  quick,  and  temperament  alive  with  energy, 
wit  and  sense. 

"()  tell  mv  fortune,  not  mv  character!  I  shall  shame  of 
energy,  wit  and  sense,  if  I  hear  such  flattery.  Doctor  !  " 
exclaimed  she,  shaking  herself  like  a  young  eagle  preparing 
to  fly. 

''We  shall  see  what  comes  of  it,  Ilortense  !  "  replied  he 
gravely,  as  with  his  gold  headed  cane  he  slowly  cjuartered 
the  heavens  like  an  ancient  Augur,  and  noted  the  planets 
in  their  houses.  The  doctor  was  quite  serious,  and  even 
Hortense,  catching  his  looks,  stood  very  silent  as  he 
studied  the  celestial  aspects. 

*'  Carrying  through  ctlicr  in  perpetual  round 
Decrees  and  resolutions  of  the  Gods." 


1 

jl 

,h 

1     ■« 

i 

\M-t\ 


"The  Lord  of  the  ascendant,"  said  he  "  is  with  the  Lord 
of  the  seventh  in  the  tenth  house.  The  Querente,  there- 
fore, shall  marry  the  man  made  for  her,  but  not  the  man  of 
her  youthful  hope  and  her  first  love." 

"  The  stars  are  true,"  continued  he,  speaking  to  him- 
self rather  than  to  her.  "Jupiter  in  the  seventh  house 
denotes  rank  and  dignity  by  marriage,  and  Mars  in  scxtile 
foretells  successful  wars.  It  is  wonderful,  Hortense  !  The 
blood  of  IJeauharr.v";!,-.  shall  sit  ow  thrones  more  than  one,  it 
shall  rule  I'rance,  Italy,  and  Flanders  ;  but  not  New  France, 
for  Saturn  in  quint ik  looks  darkly  upon  the  Twins,  who 
rule  America  !  " 

"  Come,  Jumonville,"  exclaimed  Hortense,  "congratu- 
late Claude  on  the  greatness  awaitinsf  the  house  of  Beau- 
harnois,  and  condole  with  me  that  I  am  to  see  none  of  it 
myself !  I  do  not  care  for  kings  and  queens  in  the  third 
generation,  biu  I  do  care  for  happy  fortune  in  the  present, 
for  those  I  know  and  love !  Come,  Jumonville,  have  your 
fortune  told  now,  to  keep  me  in  countenance.  If  the 
Doctor  hits  the  truth  for  you  I  shall  believe  in  him  for 
myself." 

"  That  is  a  good  idea,  Hortense,"  replied  Jumonville  ; 


S/C  ITUR  AD  ASTRA. 


229 


"  T  lonj;  .12:0  liunf^  my  hat  on  the  stars — let  the  Doctor  try 
if  he  can  find  it." 

Tlie  Doctor,  in  rjreat  good  humor,  surveyed  the  dark, 
handsome  face  and  lithe,  atliletic  fijjjure  of  Jumonville  de 
Villiers.  He  aj^ain  raised  his  cane  with  the  gravity  of  a 
Roman  Pontifex,  marking  off  liis  Tcmplum  in  tlie  heavens. 
Suddenly  he  stopped.  He  repeated  more  carefully  his 
survey,  and  then  turned  his  earnest  eyes  upon  the  young 
soldier. 

"You  see  ill-fortune  for  me.  Doctor!"  exclaimed 
Jumonville,  with  bright,  unflinching  eyes,  as  he  would 
look  on  danger  of  anv  kind. 

"  The  Hyleg,  or  giver  of  life,  is  afflicted  by  Mars  in 
the  eighth  house,  and  Saturn  is  in  evil  aspect  in  the  ascen- 
dant !  "  said  the  Doctor  slowly. 

"That  sounds  warlike  and  means  fighting,"  I  suppose. 
Doctor.  "It  is  a  brave  fortune  for  a  soldier.  Goon!" 
Jumonville  was  in  earnest  now. 

"  The  pars  forfiincc,^^  continued  the  Doctor,  gazing 
upward,  "  rejoices  in  a  benign  aspect  with  \'enus.  I'ame, 
true  love,  and  immortality  will  be  yours,  Jumonville  de 
Villiers  ;  but  you  will  die  young  under  the  flag  of  your 
country  and  for  sake  of  your  King  !  You  will  not  marry, 
but  all  the  maids  and  matrons  of  New  h'rance  will  lament 
your  fate  with  tears,  and  from  your  death  shall  spring  up 
the  salvation  of  your  native  land!  How,  I  see  not! 
But,  di'crctiim  est,  Jumonville,  ask  me  no  more  !  " 

A  thrill  like  a  stream  of  ek'ctricity  passed  through  the 
company.  'I'heir  mirth  was  extinguished  for  none  could 
Mholly  free  their  minds  from  the  superstition  of  their 
age.  The  good  Doctor  sat  down  and  wiped  his  moistened 
eye-glasses.  "  He  would  tell  no  more  to-night,"  he  said. 
"  He  had  really  gone  too  far,  making  jest  of  earnest,  and 
earnest  of  jest,  and  bej-  od  pardon  of  Jumon\ille  for  com- 
pl\  ing  with  his  humor." 

The  voung  soldier  laufrhed  merrilv.  "  If  fame,  immor- 
tality.  and  true  love  are  to  be  mine,  what  care  I  for  death? 
It  will  be  worth  giving  up  life  for,  to  have  the  tears  of 
the  maids  and  matrons  of  New  I'Vance  to  lament  your 
fate.  What  could  the  most  ambitious  soldier  desire 
more  ?  " 

The  words  of  Jumonville  struck  a  kindred  chord  in  the 
bosom  of  Hortense  de  Beauharnois.     They  were  stamped 


I 


m  \ 

h 

3  I    ; 

1  \    I 

1  '     ■' 

H  1 

1  ^ 

i  ^ 

i£t 

1 


230 


r//E  CriIEiV  D'OR. 


upon  her  heart  for  ever.  A  few  years  after  this  prerliction 
Juiiioiiville  (le  Villiers  hiy  slain  under  a  lla<;  of  truce  on 
the  bank  of  the  Mononj^ahehi,  and  of  all  the  maids  and 
matrons  of  New  France  who  wept  over  his  fate,  none 
shed  more  and  bitterer  tears  than  liis  fair  betrothed  bride, 
Hortense  dc  Hcauhaniois. 

The  prediction  of  the  Sieur  Gauthier  was  repeated  and 
retold  as  a  strani^ely  true  tale.  It  passed  into  the  trad- 
itions of  tiie  people,  and  linijjered  in  their  memory  «;ener- 
ations  after  tlv..-  festival  of  Helmont  was  utterly  forgotten. 

When  the  jj^reat  revolt  took  place  in  the  lMiij;lish 
colonies,  the  death  of  the  {gallant  Junionville  de  Villiers 
was  neither  forjjjotten  nor  for<;iven  by  New  France.  Con- 
g^ress  appealed  in  vain  for  union  and  help  from  Canadians. 
Washin_ii;ton's  proclamations  were  tioddcn  under  foot,  and 
his  troops  driven  Ixick  or  captured.  If  Canada  was  lost 
to  Fra)ice  partly  throu<;h  the  death  of  Jumonville,  it  may 
also  be  said  that  his  blood  helped  to  save  it  to  Fn^jland. 
The  ways  of  Providence  are  so  mysterious  in  working  out 
the  problems  ofiiational  existence  that  the  life  or  (le.'Uh 
of  a  single  individual  may  turn  the  scale  of  destiny  over 
half  a  continent. 

But  all  these  events  lay  as  yet  darkly  in  th&  womb  of 
•the  future.  The  gallant  Juirionville,  who  fell,  and  his 
broth  ;r  Coulon,  who  took  his  "noble  revenge"  upon 
Washington  by  sparing  his  life,  were  to-day  the  gayest 
of  the  gav  throng  who  had  assembled  to  do  honor  to  Pierre 
Philibert.' 

While  this  group  of  merry  guests,  half  in  jest,  half  in 
earnest,  were  trying  to  discover  in  the  stars  the  "  far  reaching 
concords"  that  moulded  the  life  of  each,  Amelie  led  her 
brother  away  from  the  busy  grounds  near  the  mansion,  and 
took  a  quiet  path  that  led  into  the  great  park  which  they 
entered. 

The  western  horizon  still  retained  a  streak  from  day's 
golden  finger  where  the  sun  had  gone  down.  It  was  very 
dusk  under  the  great  oaks  and  thick  pines.  But  the  valley 
was  visible  as  it  yawned  dnrkly  lieneath  their  feet,  and  the 
shimmering  river  at  the  bottom  could  be  traced  by  the 
reflection  of  the  stars  that  followed  its  course. 

A  cool  salt-water  breeze,  following  the  flood  tide  that 
was  coming  up  the  broad  St  Lawrence,  swept  their  faces  as 
Amelie  walked  by  the  side  of  Le  Gardeur,  talking  in  her 


SIC  ITUR  AD  ASTRA. 


a3» 


quiet  way  of  thiiif^s  fainili;ir,  and  of  home  iiitorests  until 
she  saw  the  fever  of  his  blood  abate,  and  his  lhouj;hts 
return  into  cahiier  channels.  Her  gentle  craft  subdued  his 
impetuous  mood — if  craft  it  niij;ht  be  called — fcjr  more 
wisely  cunning;  than  all  craft  is  liu;  promjiting  of  true  affec- 
tion, where  reason  responds  like  instinct  to  the  wants  of 
the  heart. 

They  sat  down  upon  a  garden  seat  overlooking  the 
great  valley.  None  of  the  guests  had  sauntered  out  so  far, 
but  Anielie's  heart  was  full,  she  had  nuich  to  say,  and 
wished  no  interruj)tion. 

"1  am  glad  to  sit  in  this  pretty  spot,  Amelic  "  said  he, 
at  last,  for  he  had  listened  in  silence  to  the  sweet  low  voice 
of  his  sister  as  she  kept  up  her  half  sad,  half  gbul  mono- 
logue, because  she  saw  it  pleasud  him.  It  biought  him 
into  a  mood  in  which  she  might  venture  to  talk  of  the 
matter  that  pressed  sorely  upon  her  heart. 

"  A  little  while  ago,  ]  feared  I  might  otTend  you, 
Le  Gardeur,"  said  she,  taking  his  hand  tenderly  in  hers."  if 
I  spoke  all  1  wished.  1  never  did  offend  you  th.it  I  remem- 
ber, brother,  did  1 1 " 

*'  Never,  my  incomparable  sister,  you  never  did,  and 
never  could.  Say  what  you  will,  ask  me  what  you  like  ;  but 
1  fear  1  am  unw(^rthy  ot  your  affection,  sister?  " 

"You  are  not  unwoithy,  (»od  gave  you  as  my  only 
brother,  you  will  never  be  unworthy  in  my  eyes.  Hut  it 
touches  me  to  the  quick  to  suspect  others  may  think  ligiuly 
of  you,  Le  (lardeur." 

Me  ilinched,  for  his  pride  was  touched,  but  he  knew 
Amelie  was  right.  '*  It  was  weakness  in  me,"  said  he,  "  I 
confess  it  sister.  To  pour  wine  upon  my  vexation  in  hope 
to  cure  it,  is  to  feed  a  fire  with  oil.  To  throw  lire  into  a 
powder  magazine  were  wisdom  compared  with  my  folly, 
Amelie:  I  was  angrv  at  the  message  1  got  at  such  a  time. 
Angelique  des  Meloises  has  no  mercy  upon  her  lovers!" 

"()  my  prophetic  heart!  I  thought  as  much!  It  was 
Angelique,  then,  sent  you  the  letter  you  read  at  table?" 

"  Yes,  who  else  could  have  movetl  me  so  ?  I'he  time 
was  ill-chosen,  but  I  suspect  hating  theDourgeois,  as  she 
does,  Angelique  intended  to  call  me  from  Pierre's  fete. 
I  shall  obey  her  now,  but  to  night  she  shall  obey  me,  decide 
to  make  or  mar  me,  one  way  or  other  I  You  may  read 
the  letter,  Amelie,  if  you  will." 


' 


11 


I: 


M 

U 
1;! 

hi 

n 

ii 
n 

Pi 


232 


?•///•:  ciiiEN  jyoR. 


"  I  care  not  to  read  it,  brother,  I  know  Angelique  too 
well  not  to  fear  her  influence  over  you.  Her  craft  and  bold- 
ness were  always  a  terror  to  her  companions.  lUit  you  will 
not  leave  Pierre's  fete  to  ni^ht  .'*  "  ad.led  she,  h.Jf  ini|)lorin<;- 
ly.     For  she  felt  keenly  the  discourtesy  to  Pierre  IMiilibert. 

"  I    must  do  even  that,  sis  Were   AngeHciue    as 

faulty  as  she  is  fair  I  should  (,  ^  love  her  the  more  for 
her  faults,  and  make  them  my  own.  Were  she  to  come  to 
nie  like  Ilerodias  with  the  baptist's  head  in  a  char<jer,  I 
should  outdo  Herod  in  keepin<T  my  pledpje  to  her." 

Amelie  uttered  a  low  moaning  cry.  "  ( )h  my  dear 
infatuated  brother!  It  is  not  in  nature  for  a  I)e  Repen- 
tigny  to  love  irrationally  like  that  !  What  maddening 
philtre  have  you  drank  to  intoxicate  you  with  a  woman 
who  uses  you  so  imperiously?  Jiut  you  will  not  go,  Le 
Gardeur!"  added  she  clinging  to  his  arm.  "You  are  safe 
so  long  as  you  are  with  your  sister,  }ou  will  be  sate  no 
longer  if  you  go  to  the  Maison  des  Meloises,  to  night  !  " 

"  (io  I  must  and  shall,  Amelie  !  I  have  drank  the  mad- 
dennig  philtre,  I  know  that,  A"  e  !  and  would  not  take 
an  antidote,  if  1  had  one.     The  d  has  no  antidote  to 

cure  me.  I  have  no  wish  to  be  cur*...  of  love  for  Angc'lique, 
and  in  fine  I  cannot  be,  so  let  me  go  and  receive  the  rod 
for  coming  to  IJelmont  and  the  reward  for  leaving  it  at  her 
summons  !  "  He  affected  a  tone  of  levity,  but  Amelie's 
ear  easily  detected  the  false  ring  of  it. 

"  Dearest  brother  !  "  said  she,  "  are  you  sure  Angdlique 
returns  or  is  capable  of  returning  love  like  yours?  She  is 
like  the  rest  of  us,  weak  and  tickle,  merely  human  and  not 
at  all  ihe  divinity  a  man  in  his  fancy  worships  when  in 
love  with  a  woman."  It  was  in  vain,  however,  for  Amelie 
to  try  to  persuade  her  brother  of  that. 

"  ^Vhat  care  I,  Amt'Iie,  so  long  as  Angelique  is  not 
weak  and  fickle  to  me  ? "  answered  he,  "  but  she  will  think 
her  tardy  lover  is  both  weak  and  fickle  unless  I  put  in  a 
speedy  appearance  at  the  Maison  des  Meloises ! "  He 
rose  up  as  if  to  depr.  t,  still  holding  his  sister  by  the  hand. 

Ame'lie's  tears  flowed  silently  in  the  darkness.  She 
was  not  willing  to  plant  a  seed  of  distrust  in  tiie  bosom  of 
her  brother,  yet  she  remembered  bitterly  and  indignantly 
what  Angelique  had  said  of  her  intentions  towards  the 
Intendant.  Was  she  using  Le  Gardeur  as  a  foil  to  set  off 
her  attractions  in  the  eyes  of  Bigot  ? 


n 


S/C  ITUR  AD  ASTRA. 


233 


'■ 


"Brother!"  said  Anic'lio,  "  I  am  a  woman  and  compre- 
hend my  sex  better  than  you.  I  know  AnLjMitiue's  far 
reaching;  aml>iti(Mi  and  cr.it'ty*ways  ;  are  yf)ii  sure,  not  in 
outward  persuasion  but  in  inward  conviction,  tiiat  she 
loves  you,  as  a  woman  should  love  the  man  she  means  to 
marry  ?  " 

Le  Oardcur  felt  her  words  like  a  silver  probe  that 
searched  his  heart.  With  all  his  unbounded  devotion,  he 
knew  Anj^t'licpie  too  well,  not  to  feel  a  panj;  of  distrust 
sometimes,  as  she  showered  her  cocpietries  uj^on  every  side 
of  her.  "  It  was  the  overabundance  of  her  lo\e,"  lu'  said, 
but  he  thouj;Iit  it  often  fell  like  the  dew  round  Oitleons' 
fleece,  refreshinf;  all  the  earth  about  it,  but  leaving  the 
fleece  dry.  "  Amelie  !  "  said  he,  "you  try  me  hard  and 
tempt  me  too,  my  sister,  but  it  is  useless.  AnLCi'licpie  may 
be  false  as  ('ressid  to  other  men,  she  will  not  be  false  to 
me  !  She  has  sworn  it,  with  her  hand  in  mine,  before  the 
altar  of  Notre  Dame.  I  would  go  down  to  perdition  with 
her  in  mv  arms  rather  than  be  a  crowned  kinif  with  all  the 
world  of  women  to  chf)ose  from  and  not  get  her." 

Amelie  shuddered  at  his  vehemence  ;  but  she  knew  how 
useless  was  expostulation.  She  wisely  refrained,  deeming 
it  her  duty  like  a  good  sister,  to  make  the  best  of  what 
she  could  not  hinder.  Some  jasmins  overhung  the  seat, 
she  plucked  a  handful  and  gave  them  to  him  as  they  rose 
to  return  to  the  house, 

"  Take  them  with  you,  Le  Gardeur"  said  she,  giving  him 
the  flowers  which  she  tied  into  a  wreath.  "They  will 
remind  Angelique  that  she  has  a  powerful  rival  in  your 
sister's  love." 

He  took  them  as  they  walked  slowly  back.  "Would 
she  were  like  you,  Amelie,  in  all  things,"  said  he.  I  will  put 
some  of  your  flowers  in  her  hair  to-night,  for  your  sake, 
sister." 

"  And  for  her  own  !  May  they  be  for  you  both  an 
augury  of  good  !  Mind  and  return  home,  Le  Gardeur, 
after  your  visit.  I  shall  sit  up  to  await  your  arrival,  to 
congratulate  you  ; "  and,  after  a  pause,  she  added,  "  or  to 
console  you,  brother  !  " 

"  O,  no  fear,  sister !  "  replied  he,  cheeringly.  "Angt'lique 
is  true  as  steel  to  me.  You  shall  call  her  my  betrothed  to- 
morrow !  Good  by!  And  now  go  dance  with  all  delight 
till  morning."     He  kissed  her  and  departed  for  the  cit  ', 


! 


I 


I 


i 


234 


THE  cniEN  noR. 


leaving  her  in  the  ball  room  by  the  side  of  the  Lady  De 
'J'illy. 

Anu'lie  rehited  to  her  aunt  the  result  of  her  conversa- 
tion with  Le  Gardeur,  and  the  cause  of  his  leaving  \\\Q.fete 
so  abruptly.  The  Lady  l)e  Tilly  listened  M'ith  surprise 
and  distress.  "To  think,"  said  she,  "of  Lt,'  Gardeur  ask- 
ing that  terrible  girl  to  marry  him  !  My  only  hope  is,  she 
will  refuse  him.     And  if  it  be  as  I  hear,  I  think  she  will  !  " 

"  It  would  be  the  ruin  of  Le  Gardeur  if  she  did,  aunt ! 
You  cannot  think  how  determined  he  is  on  this  marriage." 

"  It  would  be  his  ruin  if  she  accepted  him  !  "  replied 
the  Lady  Dc  Tilly.  "  With  any  other  woman  Le  Gardeur 
might  have  a  fair  chance  of  happiness  ;  but  none  with  her  ! 
More  than  one  of  her  lovers  lies  in  a  bloody  grave  by 
reason  of  her  cociuetries.  She  has  ruined  every  man  whom 
she  has  flattered  into  loving  her.  She  is  without  affection. 
Her  thoughts  are  covered  with  a  veil  of  deceit  impene- 
trable. She  would  sacrifice  the  whole  world  to  her  vanity. 
I  fear,  Amelie,  she  will  sacrifice  Le  Gardeur  as  ruthlessly 
as  the  most  worthless  of  her  admirers. 

"  We  can  only  hope  for  the  best,  aunt ;  and  I  do  think 
Angelique  loves  Le  Gardeur  as  she  never  loved  any  other." 
Amelie  looked  into  her  own  heart,  and  thought  that  where 
love  really  is,  the  world  cannot  limit  its  possibilities. 

They  were  presently  rejoined  by  Pierre  Philibert.  The 
Lady  I)e  Tilly  and  Amelie  apologized  for  Le  Gardeur's 
departure.  "  He  had  been  conij^elled  to  go  to  the  city  on 
an  affair  of  urgency,  aiid  had  left  them  to  make  his  excuses." 
Pierre  Philibert  was  not  without  a  shrewd  perception  of  the 
state  of  aff'airs.  He  pitied  Le  Gardeur  and  excused  him, 
speaking  most  kindly  of  him  in  a  way  that  touched  the 
heart  of  Amrlie.  The  ball  went  on  with  unflagging  spirit 
and  enjoyment.  The  old  walls  fairly  viljrated  with  the 
music  and  dancing  of  the  gay  company. 

The  Chevalier  La  Corne  finding  the  Lady  De  Tilly  and 
his  god-daugiiter  anxious  to  leave  before  midnight,  ordered 
their  carriages  and  prepared  to  accompany  them  home. 

The  music,  like  the  tide  in  the  great  river  that  night, 
reached  its  Hood  only  after  the  small  hours  had  set  in. 
Amelie  had  given  her  hand  to  Pierre  for  one  or  two  dances, 
and  many  a  friendly,  many  a  half  envious  guess,  was  made 
as  t'l  the  probable  Chatelaine  of  Pu'lmont. 

The  Governor,  the  Lady  De  Pilly,  Amelie,  and  many 


I    I 


so  GLOZED   THE  TEMPTER. 


235 


of  the  elder  guests,  took  eoiirtcous  leave  of  the  Bourgeois. 
and  of  Pierre,  and  returned  about  midnight  to  the  city 
But  the  music  beat  wearily  under  their  feet  before  the 
younger  and  more  ardent  votaries  of  the  dance  could  leave 
the  splendid  ball-room  of  Belmont.  'I'he  spires  of  the 
distant  churches  and  convents  began  to  glitter  in  the  grey 
of  the  morning  by  the  time  they  had  all  reached  their 
couches,  to  talk  or  dream  over  the  memorable y^/f  of  Pierre 
Philibert — the  finest,  as  all  pronounced  it,  ever  given  in 
the  old  city  of  Quebec. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


so    GLOZED     THE     TEMPTER. 


The  lamps  burned  brightly  in  the  boudoir  of  Angclique 
Des  Meloises  on  the  night  of  the  fete  of  Pierre  Philibert. 
Miioscsof  fresh  flowers  filled  the  antique  Sevres  vases,  send- 
ing delicious  odors  through  the  ajDartment  which  was  fur- 
nished in  a  style  of  almost  royal  splendor.  Upon  the 
white  hearth  a  few  billets  of  wood  blazed  cheerfully,  for, 
after  a  hot  day,  as  was  not  uncommon  in  New  France,  a 
cool,  salt-water  breeze  came  up  the  great  river,bringing 
reminders  of  cold  sea-washed  rocks  and  snowy  crevices 
still  lingering  upon  the  mountainous  shorts  of  the  St. 
Lawrence. 

Angolique  sat  idly  watching  the  wreaths  of  smoke  as 
they  rose  in  shapes  fantastic  as  her  own  thoughts.  She 
was  ill  at  ease  and  listened  eagerly  to  every  sound  that 
came  up  from  the  street,  as  she  watched  and  waited  for 
the  footstep  she  knew  so  well. 

Bv  that  subtle  instinct  which  is  a  sixth  sense  in  woman, 
she  knew  that  Le  Gardeur  De  Repentigny  would  visit  her 
to-night,  and  renew  his  offer  of  marriage.  She  tried  to 
rehearse  what  she  should  say  to  him,  and  how  comport  her- 
self so  as  neither  to  affront  him  nor  commit  herself  by  any 
rash  engagement,  Her  fingers  worked  nervously  together 
as  she  pondered  over  expressions  to  use  and  studied  looks 
to  give  him,  that  should  be  neither  too  warm  nor  too  cold. 


IH    ' 

1 

H 

li 

236 


THE  Cn/EN  D'OR. 


She  meant  to  retain  his  love  ancT  evade  liis  proposals,  and 
she  never  for  a  moment  doubted  her  ability  to  accomplish 
her  ends.  Men's  hearts  had  hitherto  been  but  potter's 
clay  in  her  hands,  and  she  had  no  misgivinijjs  now,  but  she 
felt  that  the  love  of  Le  (xardeur  was  a  thin;^  she  could  not 
tread  on  without  a  shock  to  herself  like  the  counter 
stroke  of  a  torpedo  to  the  naked  foot  of  an  Indian,  who 
rashly  steps  upon  it  as  it  basks  in  a  sunny  pool. 

She  was  aii^itated  beyond  her  wont,  for  she  loved  Le 
Gardeur  with  a  strange  selfi'^h  passion,  for  her  own  sake, 
not  for  his — a  sort  of  love  not  uncommon  with  either  sex. 
She  had  the  frankness  to  be  half  ashamed  of  it,  for  she 
knew  the  wion<r  she  was  doinjx  to  one  of  the  most  noble 
and  faithful  hearts  in  the  world.  Jkit  the  arrival  of  the 
Intendant  had  unsettled  every  good  resolution  she  had 
once  made  to  marry  I.e  Gardeur  De  Repentigny  and  be- 
come a  reputable  matron  in  society.  Her  ambitious  fan- 
tasies dinuned  every  perception  of  duty  to  her  own  heart 
as  wel!  as  his;  and  she  had  worked  herself  into  that  unen- 
viable frame  of  mind  which  possesses  a  woman  who  cannot 
resolve  either  to  consent  or  deny,  to  accept  her  lover  or  to 
let  him  go  ! 

The  solitude  of  her  ai)artment  became  insupportable  to 
her.  She  spiang  up,  opened  the  window,  and  sat  down  in 
the  balcony  outside,  trying  to  find  composure  by  looking 
down  into  the  dark  still  street.  The  voices  of  two  men 
engaged  in  eager  con\ersation  reached  her  ear.  They  sat 
upon  the  broad  steps  of  the  house,  so  that  every  word  they 
spoke  reached  her  ear,  although  she  could  scarcely  distin- 
guish them  in  the  darkness,  'I'hese  were  no  other  than  Max 
(irimeau  and  niind  IJartemv,  the  brace  of  beggars  whose 
post  was  at  the  gate  of  the  Basse  Ville.  Thev  seemed  to 
be  comparing  the  amount  of  alms  each  had  received  during 
the  day.  and  were  arranging  for  a  supjier  at  some  obscure 
haunt  they  frecjuented  in  the  purlieus  of  the  lower  town, 
when  another  figure,  came  up,  short,  dai)per,  and  carrying 
a  knapsack,  as  Angelique  could  detect  by  the  glimnierof  a 
lantern  that  hung  on  a  rope  stretched  across  the  street.  He 
was  greeted  warmly  bv  the  old  mendicants. 

''  Sure  as  my  old  Musket ! — it  is  Master  Pothier,  and  no- 
body else  !  "  exclaimed  Max  (irimeau,  rising,  and  giving 
the  new  comer  a  heartv  embrace.  "Don't  vou  see.  Bar- 
temy  .-*      He  has   been   foraging  among  the  fat  wives  of 


so  GLOZED  THE  TEMPTER. 


237 


""•S 


to 


mg 


no- 


the  South  sliore.  What  a  cheek  he  blows  ! — red  as  a  peony, 
and  fat  as  a  Dutch  ]3ur<;oniastcr !  "  Max  liaci  seen  j:)lenty 
of  the  world  when  he  marched  under  Marshal  de  Eelle- 
isle  ;  so  he  was  at  no  loss  for  ajDt  comparisons. 

"Yes!"  replied  blind  l>artemy,  holding;  out  his  hand 
to  be  shaken.  "  1  see  by  your  voice,  Master  Polhicr,  that 
you  have  :iot  said  grace  over  bare  bones  during  your  ab- 
sence.    But  where  have  you  been  this  long  time?  " 

"Oh,  fleecing  the  king's  subjects  to  the  best  of  my  poor 
ability  in  the  law  ;  and  without  half  tiv  success  of  yoa  and 
Max,  here,  who  toll  the  gate  of  the  Dassc  Villemore  easily 
than  the  Intendant  gets  in  the  king's  taxes  !  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  replied  Bartemy,  with  a  pious-  twist  of 
his  neck,  and  an  upward  cast  of  his  blank  orbs.  ''It  is 
four  rumour  dc  Dicu  !  We  beggars  sa 'c  more  sduIs  than 
the  Cure  ;  for  we  are  always  exhorting  men  to  charity.  I 
think  we  ought  to  be  part  of  Holy  Church  as  well  as  the 
Grey  Friars." 

"  And  so  we  are  part  of  Holy  Church,  Bartemy  !  " 
interrupted  Max  Orimeau.  "  When  the  good  IJishop 
washed  twelve  pair  of  our  dirty  feet  on  Maunday-Thursday 
in  the  Cathedral,  I  felt  like  an  Apostle — I  did  !  My  feet 
were  just  ready  for  benediction  ;  for  see  !  they  had  never 
been  washed,  that  I  remember  of,  since  I  marched  to  the 
relief  of  Pratrue  !  But  vou  should  ha\e  been  out  to  Bel- 
mont,  to-day.  Master  Pothier !  There  was  the  grandest 
Easter-pie  ever  made  in  New  France!  You  might  have 
carried  on  a  lawsuit  inside  of  it,  and  lived  off  the  estate 
for  a  year — I  ate  a  bushel  of  it.     I  did  !  " 

"  Oh,  the  cursed  luck  is  every  day  mine  !  "  replied  Master 
Pothier,  cla])ping  his  hands  upon  his  stomach.  "  1  would  not 
have  missed  that  Kaster-pie, — no, — not  to  draw  the  Pope's 
will  !  But — as  it  is  l.iid  down  in  the  Couttimr  il Orleans 
(Tit,  17),  the  absent  lose  the  usufruct  of  their  rights  ;  vide 
also  Pothier  dcs  suucssions. — 1  lost  my  share  of  the  pie  of 
Belmont !  "  * 

"  Well  never  mind,  Master  Pothier,"  replied  Max. 
"  Don't  grieve  ;  you  shall  go  with  us  to  night  to  tiie  Flrur  de 
Lys,  in  the  Sault  au  Matclot.  Hartemy  and  I  have  bespoken 
an  eel-pie  and  a  gallon  of  humming  cider  of  Normandy.  We 
shall  all  be  jolly  as  the  Marguilliers  of  St.  Roch,  after 
tithing  the  parish  !" 

"  Have  with  you,  then  !     I  am  free  now  ;  I  have  just 


I    l: 


238 


THE  CI/I/C.V  D'OR. 


i     il 


delivered  a  letter  to  the  Intendant  from  a  lady  at  Ilcau- 
manoir,  and  got  a  crown  for  it.  I  will  lay  it  on  top  of 
your  eel-pie,  Max  !  " 

Anoclique,  from  being  simj^ly  amused  at  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  old  beggars,  became  in  an  instant  all  eyes  and 
ears  at  the  words  of  Master  Polhier. 

"Had  you  ever  the  fortune  to  see  that  lady  at  Beau- 
manoir  ?  "  asked  Max,  with  more  curiosity  than  was  to  be 
expected  of  one  in  his  position. 

"  No  :  the  letter  was  handed  me  by  Dame  Tremblay, 
with  a  cup  of  wine.  Ikit  the  Intendant  gave  me  a  crown, 
when  he  read  it.  I  never  saw  the  Chevalier  Bigot  in  better 
humor  !  That  letter  touched  both  his  purse  and  his  feelings. 
But  how  did  you  ever  come  to  hear  of  the  Lady  of  Beau- 
manoir .-'  " 

"Oh,  Bartemy  and  I  hear  everything  at  the  gate  of 
the  Basse  Ville  !  My  Lord  Bishop  and  Father  Glapion  of 
the  Jesuits  met  in  tiie  gate  one  day,  and  spoke  of  her, 
each  asking  the  other,  if  he  knew  who  she  was  ? — when  up 
rode  the  Intendant;  and  the  Bishop  made  free,  as  Bishops 
will,  you  know,  to  question  .lim,  whether  he  kept  a  lady  at 
the  Chateau  ?  " 

"  '  A  round  dozen  of  them  !  my  Lord  Bishop  !'  replied 
Bigot,  laugliing.  La !  It  takes  the  Intendant  to  talk 
down  a  Bishop !  He  bade  my  Lord  not  to  trouble  him- 
self. The  lady  was  under  his  tutcllc  I  which  I  comprehended 
as  little,  as  little —  " 

"  As  you  do  your  N'omitiy  Domiuy  /"  replied  Pothier. 
"  Don't  be  angry.  Max,  if  I  infer  that  the  Intendant  quot- 
ed Pigean,  (Tit.  2,  27);  Le  Tiitcur est comptablc  dcsa gcstion.^^ 

"  I  don't  care  what  the  Pigeons  have  to  say  to  it !  That 
is  what  the  Intendant  said  !  "  replied  Max,  hotly,  and  "  tliat^ 
for  your  law  grimoire,  Master  Pothier  !  "  Max  snapped 
his  fingers  like  the  lock  of  his  musket,  at  Prague,  to 
indicate  what  he  meant  by  that !  • 

"Oh,  Iiicptc  lo(]iicns\  you  don't  understand  either  law 
or  Latin,  Max  !  "  exclaimed  Pothier,  shaking  his  ragged 
wig  with  an  air  of  pity. 

"  I  understand  begging ;  and  that  is  getting  without 
cheating,  and  much  more  to  the  purpose,"  replied  Max, 
hotly  "  Look  you,  Master  Pothier  !  you  are  learned  as 
three  curates  ;  but  I  can  get  more  money  in  the  gate  of  the 
Basse  Ville  by  simply  standing  still,  and  crying  out,  rour 


so  GLOZED  THE  TEMPTER. 


239 


lay, 


as 

he 


faMdurifc  D/c'u  /  ihiin  you  with  jour  biulo^et  of  law  ////i^o- 
jin^^o,  running  up  and  down  the  country  until  the  dogs  eat 
off  the  calves  of  your  legs,  as  they  say    in  the  Nivernois." 

"Well,  never  mind  what  they  say  in  the  Nivernois 
about  the  calves  of  my  legs  !  Bon  coq  nc  fut  jamais  };riis  ! 
A  gam»-cock  is  never  fat  \  and  that  is  Master  Pothier,  dit 
Robin.  Lean  as  are  my  calves,  they  will  carry  away  as 
much  of  your  eel-pie  to  night  as  those  of  the  stoutest  carter 
in  Quebec  !  " 

"  And  the  pie  is  baked  by  this  time  ! — so  let  us  be  jog- 
ging, "  interrupted  Jjarteniy,  rising.  '*  Now  give  me 
your  arm,  Max !  and  with  Master  Tothier's  on  the  other 
side,  I  shall  walk  to  the  Flciir  (k  Lys  straight  as  a  steeple." 

The  glorious  prospect  of  supper,  made  all  three  niL-rry 
as  crickets  on  a  warm  hearth,  as  they  jogged  over  the 
pavement,  in  their  clouted  shoes,  little  suspecting  they  had 
left  a  Hame  of  anger  in  the  breast  of  Angelique  des  Me- 
loises,  kindled  by  the  few  words  of  Pothier,  respecting  the 
lady  of  lleaumanoir. 

Angelique  recalled,  with  1)itterness,  that  the  rude  bearer 
of  the  note  had  observed  somctliiug  that  had  touched  the 
heart  and  opened  the  purse  of  the  Intendant.  What  was  it  ? 
Was  IJigot  playing  a  game  with  Angelique  des  Meloises  ? 
Woe  to  him  and  the  lady  of  Beauiiianoir,  if  he  was  !  As  she 
sat  musing  over  it,  a  knock  was  heard  on  the  door  of  her 
boudoir.  She  left  the  balcony,  and  re-entered  her  room, 
where  a  neat  comely  girl,  in  a  servant's  dress,  was  waiting 
to  speak  to  her. 

The  girl  was  not  known  to  Angelique.  But  urtseying 
very  low,  she  informed  her  that  she  was  Fanchon  Dodier, 
a  cousin  of  Lizette's.  She  had  been  in  service  at  the  Cha- 
teau of  Beaumanoir,  but  had  just  left  it.  "There  is  no 
living  under  Dame  Tremblay  I"  said  she,  "if  she  suspect 
a  maid-servant  of  flirting,  ever  so  little,  with  M.  Froumois, 
the  handsome  Valet  of  the  Inten*dant !  She  imagined  that  I 
did  ;  and  such  a  life  as  she  has  led  me,  my  lady  !  So  I 
came  to  the  city,  to  ask  advice  of  cousin  Lizette,  and  seek 
a  new  place.  I  am  sure  Dame  Tremblay  need  not  be  so 
hard  upon  the  maids.  She  is  always  boasting  of  her  own 
triumplis  when  she  was  the  charming  Josephine.  " 

"  And  Lizette  referred  you  to  me  ?"  asked  Angelique,  too 
occupied  just  now  to  mind  the  gossip  about  Dame  Tremblay, 
which  another  time   she  would  have  enjoyed  immensely, 


T 


r 

:*ii 


^^r 


240 


T//E  CIIIEN  nOR. 


t 


\\\ 

it 

hii 

m 


\ 


She  eyed  the  j;iii  with  intense  curiosity  ;  for,  niicjht  she  not 
tell  her  something  of  the  secret  over  which  she  was  eating 
her  lieart  out  ? 

"  V'es,  my  Lady  !  Lizette  referred  me  to  you,  and  told 
me  to  be  very  circums|)ect  indeed  about  what  I  said  ttnicli- 
ing  the  Intendant,  but  simply  to  ask  if  you  would  take  me 
into  your  service  ?  Lizette  need  not  have  warned  me  about 
the  Intendant ;  for  I  never  reveal  secrets  of  my  masters  or 
mistresses,  never  !  never  !  my  Lady  !  " 

'*  You  are  more  cunning  than  you  look,  nevertheless," 
thought  Angeliciue,  "  whatever  scruple  you  luay  have  about 
secrets.  Fanchon,"  said  she,  "  I  will  make  one  condition 
with  you:  I  will  take  you  into  my  service  if  you  will  tell 
me  whether  you  ever  saw  the  Lady  of  JJeaumanoir  ?  " 

Angelique's  notions  of  honor,  clear  enough  in  theory, 
never  prevented  her  sacrificing  them  without  compunction, 
to  gain  an  object  or  learn  a  secret  that  interested  her. 

''1  will  willingly  tell  you  all  1  know,  my  Lady.  1  have 
seen  her  once  ;  none  of  the  servants  are  supposetl  to  know 
she  is  in  the  Chateau,  but  of  course  all  do.  "  Fanchon 
stood  with  her  two  hands  in  the  pockets  of  her  apron,  as 
ready  to  talk  as  the  pretty  Grisette  who  directed  Lawrence 
Sterne  to  the  Opera  Comique. 

*'  Of  course  !  "  remarked  Angclique,  "  a  secret  like  that 
could  never  be  kept  in  the  Chateau  of  IJeaumanoir ! 
Now  tell  me,  Fanchon,  what  is  she  like  ?'"  Angelique  sat  up 
eagerly,  and  brushed  back  the  hair  from  her  ear  with  a 
rajMd  stroke  of  her  hand,  as  she  questioned  the  girl, 
"^rhere  was  a  look  in  her  eyes  that  made  Fanchon  a  little 
afraid,  and  brought  out  more  truth  than  she  intended  to 
impart. 

"  1  saw  her  this  morning,  my  Lady,  as  she  knelt  in  her 
oratory.  The  half-open  door  tempted  me  to  look,  in  spite 
of  the  orders  of  Dame  'J'remblay." 

"  Ah  !  you  saw  her  this'morning  !  "  repeated  Angelique 
impetuously  ;  "  how  does  she  appear }  Is  she  better  in 
looks  than  when  she  first  came  to  the  Chateau,  or  worse  .^ 
She  ought  to  be  worse,  nuich  worse  !  " 

"  1  do  not  know,  my  Lady,  but,  as  I  said,  I  looked  in 
the  door,  although  forbid  to  do  so.  Half-0|3en  doors  are 
so  tempting,  and  one  cannot  shut  one's  eyes!  Even  a  key- 
hole is  haid  to  resist  when  you  long  to  know  what  is  on 
the  other  side  of  it, — I  always  found  it  so  !  " 


so  GLOZED  THE  TEMPTER. 


241 


ofiii. 


to 


on 


"  I  dare  say  you  did  !  But  how  docs  she  look  ?  "  broke 
in  Angclique,  impatiently  stamping  her  dainty  foot  on  the 
floor. 

"  Oh,  so  pale  my  Lady  !  but  her  face  is  the  loveliest  I 
ever  saw, — almost,"  added  she,  with  an  after-thought,  "but 
so  sad  !  she  looks  like  the  twin  sister  of  the  blessed 
Madonna  in  the  Seminary  Chapel,  my  Lady." 

"  Was  she  at  her  devotions,  Fanchon  ?  " 

**  I  think  not,  my  Lady ;  she  was  reading  a  letter  which 
she  had  just  received  from  the  Intendant." 

Angelique's  eyes  were  now  ablaze.  She  conjectured  at 
once  that  Caroline  was  corresponding  with  Bigot,  and  that 
the  letter  brought  to  the  Intendant  by  Master  Pothier  was  in 
reply  to  one  from  him.  ''  But  how  do  you  know  the  letter 
she  was  reading  was  from  the  Intendant.''  It  could  not 
be!"  Angelique's  eyebrows  contracted  angrily,  and  a 
dark  shadow  passed  over  her  face.  She  said.  "  It  could 
not  be,"  but  she  felt  it  could  be,  and  was. 

"Oh,  but  it  was  from  the  Intendant,  my  Lady  !  I  heard 
her  repeat  his  name,  and  pray  God  to  bless  Francois  Bigot 
for  his  kind  words.  That  is  the  Intendant's  name,  is  it 
not,  my  Lady  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  it  is  !  I  should  not  have  doubted  you, 
Fanchon  !  but  could  you  gather  the  purport  of  that  letter  1 
Speak  truly,  F'anchon,  and  I  will  reward  you  splendidly. 
VVhat  think  you  it  was  about  ?  " 

*'  I  did  more  than  gather  the  purport  of  it,  my  Lady ; 
I  have  got  the  letter  itself ! ''  Angelique  sprang  up 
eagerly,  as  if  to  embrace  Fanchon.  "  I  happened,  in  my 
eagerness,  to  jar  the  door  ;  the  lady  imagining  some  one  was 
coming,  rose  suddenly,  and  left  the  room.  In  her  haste 
she  dropped  the  letter  on  the  floor.  I  picked  it  up;  I. 
thought  no  harm,  as  I  was  determined  to  leave  Dame 
Tremblay  to  day.   Would  my  Lady  like  to  read  the  letter  "i " 

Angelique  fairly  sprang  at  the  offer.  "  Vou  have  got 
the  letter,  Fanchon  ?  Let  me  see  it  instantly  !  Mow  con- 
siderate of  you  to  bring  it !  I  will  give  you  this  ring 
for  that  letter  !  "  She  pulled  a  ring  off  her  finger,  and, 
seizing  Fanchon's  hand,  put  it  on  hers.  Fanchon  was  en- 
chanted ;  she  admired  the  ring,  as  she  turned  it  round  and 
round  her  finger. 

"  I  am  intinitely  obliged,  my  Lady,  for  your  gift.  It  is 
worth  a  million  such  letters,"  said  she. 

16 


242 


THE  CITIEN  D'OR. 


"  The  letter  outweighs  a  million  rinj^js,"  rcpHcd  Angd- 
lique,  as  she  tore  it  open  violently,  and  sat  down  to  read. 

The  first  words  struck  her  like  a  stone. 

"Dear  Caroline:  "  It  was  written  in  the  hold  hand  of 
the  Intendant,  which  Angi-lique  knew  very  well.  "  You 
have  suffered  too  nuich  for  my  sake,  but  I  am  neither  unfeel- 
ing nor  ungrateful.  I  ha\e  news  for  you  !  Your  father  has 
gone  to  France  in  search  of  you  !  No  one  suspects  you 
to  be  here.  Remain  patiently  where  you  are  at  present, 
and  in  the  utmost  secresy,  or  there  will  be  a  storm  that 
may  upset  us  both.  Try  to  be  happy,  and  let  not  the 
sweetest  eyes  were  e\er  seen,  grow  dim  with  needless 
regrets.  Jietter  and  brighter  days  will  surely  come.  Mean- 
while, pray,  pray!  my  Caroline  ;  it  will  do  you  good,  and 
perhaps  make  me  more  worthy  of  the  love  which  I  know  is 
wh(jlly  mine.  Adieu,  }'"ran^ois." 

A  ngelique  devoured  rather  than  read  the  letter.  She  had 
no  sooner  perused  it  than  she  tore  it  up  in  a  ])aroxysm  of 
fury,  scattering  its  pieces  like  snow-ilakes  over  the  floor, 
and  stamping  on  them  with  her  iirm  foot  as  if  she  would 
tread  them  into  annihilation.. 

Fanchon  was  not  unaccustomed  to  exhil)itions  of  fem- 
inine wrath  ;  but  she  was  fairly  frightened  at  the  terrible 
rage  that  shook  Angc'li(|ue  from  head  to  foot. 

"Fanchon!  did  you  read  that  letter  ?"  demanded  she, 
turning  suddenly  upon  the  trembling  maid.  The  girl  saw 
her  mistress'  cheeks  twitch  with  passion,  and  her  hands 
clench  as  if  she  would  strike  her,  if  she  answered  yes. 

Shrinking  with  fear  ;  Fanchon  replied  faintly  "  No,  my 
Lady,  I  cannot  read." 

"  And  you  have  allowed  no  other  person  to  read  it  ?  " 

"  No,  my  Lady  ;  I  was  afraid  to  show  the  letter  to  any 
one  ;  you  know,  I  ought  not  to  have  taken  it !  " 

"Was  no  inquiry  made  about  it?  "  Angelique  laid  her 
hand  upon  the  girl's  shoulder,  who  trembled  from  head  to 
foot. 

"Yes,  my  Lady  ;  Dame  Tremblay  turned  the  Chateau 
upside  down,  looking  for  it ;  but  I  dared  not  tell  her  I  had 
it!" 

"  I  think  you  speak  truth,  Fanchon!"  replied  Angd- 
lique,  getting  somewhat  over  her  passion,  but  her  bosom 
still  heaved  like  the  ocean  after  a  storm.  "And  now  mind 
what  I  say  !  "  Iler  hand  pressed  heavily  on  the  girl's  shoul- 


w 


so  GLOZED  THE  TEMPTER. 


243 


der,  wliilc  she  cjavu  her  a  look  that  seemed  to  freeze  the 
very  marrow  in  her  hones. 

'*  You  know  a  secret  about  the  Ladv  of  Beaumanoir, 
Fanchon,  and  one  about  me,  too  !  If  you  ever  speak  of 
either,  to  man  or  woman,  or  c\en  to  yourself,  I  will  cut  the 
touLjue  out  of  yt)ur  '.nouth,  and  nail  it  to  that  door-post  ! 
Mind  my  words,  Fanchon  !  1  never  fail  to  do  what  I 
threaten." 

"Oh,  only  do  not  look  so  at  me,  my  Lady  !  "  replied  poor 
Fanchon.  perspi^iui;  with  fear.  "  I  am  sure  1  nc\ er  shall 
speak  of  it.  1  swear  by  our  IJlessed  Lady  of  Ste.  Foye  !  I 
will  never  breathe  to  mortal  that  1  <:;ave  you  that  letter."  . 

"That  will  do!"  replied  An<j,elique,  throwin<^  herself 
down  in  her  ^reat  chair.  "  And  now,  you  ma\'  go  to  Li- 
zette  ;  she  will  attend  to  )()U.      l]ut,  fri/wni/hr .'" 

The  fri<j;lUene(I  f;;irl  did  not  wait  for  another  conmiand  to 
go.  Angelique  held  up  her  linger,  which,  to  I'anchon, 
looked  terrible  as  a  poniard.  She  hurried  down  to  the 
ser\ants'  hall,  with  a  secret  held  fast  between  her  teeth,  for 
once  in  her  life  ;  and  she  trembled  at  the  very  thought  of 
ever  letting  it  escape. 

Ange!ic|ue  sat  with  her  hands  on  her  temples,  staring 
upon  the  fire  that  liared  and  tiickered  in  the  deep  hre- 
place.  She  had  seen  a  wild,  wicked  vision  there  once 
before.  It  came  again,  as  things  evil  never  fail  to  come 
again  at  our  bidding.  Good  may  delay,  but  evil  never 
waits,  'i'he  red  tire  turned  itself  into  shapes  of  lurid  dens 
and  caverns, changing  from  h.orror  to  hoiror,  until  her  crea- 
tive fancy  formed  them  into  the  secret  chamber  of  Beau- 
maiioir,  with  its  one  fair,  solitary  inmate — her  rival  for  the 
hand  of  the  Intendant,  her  fortunate  rival,  if  she  might 
believe  the  letter  l)rought  to  her  so  strangely.  Angc'lique 
looked  fiercely  at  the  fragments  of  it  lying  upon  the  carpet, 
and  wished  she  had  not  destroyed  it ;  but  every  word  of 
it  was  stamped  upon  her  memory,  as  if  branded  with  a 
hot  iron. 

"  I  see  it  all,  now  !  "  exclaimed  she  :  "  Bigot's  falseness, 
and  her  shameless  effrontery  in  seeking  him  in  his  very 
house.  But  it  shall  not  be  !  "  Angel ique's  voice  was  like 
the  cry  of  a  wounded  panther,  tearing  at  the  arrow  which 
has  pierced  his  f.ank.  "  Is  Angelique  des  Meloises  to  be 
humiliated  by  that  woman  .''  Never  !  But  my  bright 
dreams  will  have  no  fulfilment,  so  long  as  she  lives  at  Beau- 
manoir,— so  long  as  she  lives  anywhere!  " 


244 


THE  C  in  EN  D' OR. 


She  sat  still  for  awhile,  jijaxing  into  the  fire  ;  rind  the  se- 
cret chamber  of  Beainnanoir  a^ain  formed  itself  before 
her  vision.  She  spraiii^  up,  toucluxl  by  the  hand  of  her 
good  an^^el,  perhaps,  and  for  the  last  time.  "  Satan  whis- 
pers it  a^Min  in  my  ear!  "  cried  she.  "  Ste.  Marie  I  I  am 
not  so  wicked  as  that !  Last  ni^dit  the  thoni^ht  came  to 
me  in  the  dark.  I  shook  it  off  at  dawn  of  day.  To-ni'^ht 
it  comes  a.LCain  ;  and  I  let  it  touch  me  like  a  lover,  and  I 
neither  withdraw  my  hand  nor  tremble!  To-morrow  it 
will  return  for  the  last  time,  and  stay  with  n»e  !  and  1  shall 
let  it  sleep  on  my  pillow  !  'J'he  babe  of  sin  will  have  been 
barn,  and  waxed  to  a  full  Demon,  iid  I  shall  yield  myself  up 
to  his  embraces!  ()  i)i<rot,  IJJLrot  !  what  have  vou  not  done.'* 
C\'st  Infautc  d  vons  !  Ccst  la  fdtitc  a  I'oiis  I  She  repeated 
this  exclamation  several  times,  as  if,  by  accusing  liigot, 
she  excused  her  own  evil  imaginings,  and  cast  the  blame 
of  them  upon  him.  She  seemed  drawn  down  into  a  vor- 
tex, from  which  there  was  no  escape.  She  gave  herself  up 
to  its  drift,  in  a  sort  of  passionate  abandonment  The 
death  or  the  banishment  of  Caroline  were  the  only  alter- 
nati\es  she  could  contemplate,  "The  sweetest  eyes  were 
ever  seen  !  "  "  l^igot's  foolish  words,''  thought  she  ;  "  and 
the  influence  of  those  eyes  must  be  killed,  if  Angc'lique 
des  Meloises  is  ever  to  mount  the  lofty  chariot  of  her 
ambition," 

"  Other  women,"  she  thought  bitterly,  "  would  abandon 
greatness  for  lo\e,  and  in  the  arms  of  a  faithful  lover,  like 
Le  Gardeur,  find  a  compensation  for  the  slights  of  the  In- 
tendant  !  " 

]jut  Angt'lique  was  not  like  other  women.  She  was 
born  to  concjuer  men, — not  to  yield  to  them.  The  steps 
of  a  throne  glittered  in  her  wild  fancy,  and  she  would  not 
lose  the  game  of  her  life  because  she  had  missed  the  first 
throw.  Bigot  was  false  to  her,  but  he  was  still  worth  the 
winning,  for  all  the  reasons  which  made  her  first  listen  to 
him.  She  had  no  love  for  him, — not  a  spark  !  But  his  name, 
his  rank,  his  wealth,  his  inlluence  at  Court,  and  a  future 
career  of  glory  there, — these  things  she  had  regarded  as  her 
own,  by  right  of  her  beauty  and  skill  in  ruling  men  !  "  No 
rival  shall  ever  boast  she  has  conquered  Angelique  des 
Meloises !  "  cried  she,  clenching  her  hands.  And  thus  it 
was  in  this  crisis  of  her  fate,  the  love  of  Le  Gardeur  was 
blown  like  a  feather  before  the  breath  of  her  passionate 


SEALS  OF  LOVE,  HUT  SEAL' D  LV  VALV. 


245 


selfishness.  The  weights  of  «;oI(l  pulled  her  down  to  the 
Nadir.  Angelique's  final  resolution  was  irrevocably  taken, 
before  her  eager,  hopeful  lover  appeared  in  answer  to 
her  summons  recalling  him  from  the  festival  of  Belmont. 


CHAPTKR  XXIV. 


SEALS  OF  LOVE,  liUT  SEAL  D  IN  VAIN. 

She  sat  waiting  Le  Gardeur's  arrival,  and  the  thought 
of  him  began  to  assert  its  inlluence  as  the  antidote  of  the 
poisonous  stuff  she  had  taken  into  her  imagination.  His 
presence  so  handsome,  iiis  manner  so  kind,  his  love  so 
undoubted,  carried  her  into  a  region  of  intense  satisfaction. 
Angel ique  never  thought  so  honestly  well  rif  jieiself  "s 
when  recounting  the  marks  of  affection  bestowed  upon  her 
by  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny.  "  His  love  is  a  treasure 
for  any  woman  to  possess,  and  he  has  given  it  all  to  me  !  " 
said  she  to  herself.  "There  are  women  who  value  them- 
selves wholly  by  the  value  placed  upon  them  by  others  ; 
but  I  value  others  by  the  measure  of  myself.  I  love  Le 
Gardeur  ;  and  what  I  love  I  do  not  mean  to  lose  !  "  added 
she,  with  an  inconsecjuence  that  fitted  ill  with  her  resolu- 
tion regarding  the  Intendant.  But  Angelique  was  one  who 
reconciled  to  herself  all  professions,  however  opposite  or 
however  incongruous. 

A  hasty  knock  at  the  door  of  the  mansion,  followed  by 
the  quick,  well-known  step  up  the  broad  stair,  brought  Le 
Gardeur  into  her  presence.  He  looked  flushed  and  dis- 
ordered, as  he  took  her  eagerly  extended  hand,  and  pressed 
it  to  his  lips. 

Her  whole  aspect  underwent  a  transformation  in  the 
presence  of  her  lover.  She  was  unfeignedly  glad  to  see 
him.  Without  letting  go  his  hand,  she  led  him  to  the  sofa, 
and  sat  down  by  him.  Other  men  had  the  semblance  of  her 
graciousness  and  a  piTfect  imitation  it  was  too  ;  but  he 
alone  had  the  reality  of  her  affection. 

"  Oh,  Le  Gardeur  !  "  exclaimed  she,  looking  him  through 
and  through,  and  detecting  no  flaw  in  his  honest  admira- 


Ill 


246 


Till-:  ciniuv  D'OR. 


tion.  "  Can  you  forj^ive  me,  for  askinfj  you  to  come  and 
see  me  to-ni^f|it  ?  and  for  absolutely  no  reason  I  None  in 
the  world,  Le  Cl;irdeur  !  hut  that  I  lonj^^ed  to  see  you!  I 
was  jealous  of  IJclmont  for  drawing  you  away  from  the 
Maison  des  Meloises  to  night!  " 

"  And  what  better  reason,  could  T  have  in  the  world 
than  that  you  were  longing  to  see  me,  vVngelique?  I  think 
I  should  U-ave  the  gate  of  heaven  itself  if  you  called  me 
back,  dailing !  Your  ju-esence  for  a  minute  is  more  to 
me  than  hours  of  festivity  at  lielmont  or  the  company  of 
any  other  woman  in  the  world." 

Angc'liquc  was  not  insensible  to  the  devotion  of  Le 
Gardeur.  Her  feelings  were  touched,  and  never  slow  in 
finding  an  interpretation  for  them,  she  raised  his  hand 
quickly  to  her  lips,  and  kissed  it.  "I  had  no  motive  in 
sending  for  you  but  to  see  you,  Le  Gardeur!"  said  she, 
''will  that  content  you  ?      If  it  wont  — " 

*' 'J'his  shall,"  replied  he,  kissing  her  cheek — which  she 
was  far  from  averting  or  resenting." 

"That  is  so  like  you,  Le  Gardeur!"  replied  she,  "to 
take  before  it  is  given  !"  She  stopjied — "  What  was]  going 
to  sav  ?  "  added  she.  "  It  was  jriven  !  and  mv  contentment 
is  perfect  to  have  you  here  by  my  side!"  If  her  thoughts 
reverted  at  this  moment  to  the  Intendant,  it  was  with  a 
feeling  of  repulsion  ;  and  as  she  looked  fondly  on  the  face 
of  Le  Gardeur,  she  could  not  lielp  contrasting  his  hand- 
some looks  with  the  hard,  swarthy  i^eatures  of  15igot. 

"  I  wish  my  contentment  were  perfect,  Angelique  \  but 
it  is  in  your  power  to  make  it  so — will  you  ?  Why  keep  me 
forever  on  the  threshold  of  my  happiness  or  of  my  des- 
pair whichever  you  shall  decree .''  I  have  spoken  to  Amclie 
to-night  of  you  !  " 

"  Oh,  do  not  press  me,  Le  Gardeur,"  exclaimed  she, 
violently  agitated,  anxious  to  evade  the  question  she  saw 
burning  on  his  lips  and  distrustful  of  her  own  power  to 
refuse,  "  not  now  !  not  to-night  !  another  day,  you  shall  know 
how  much  I  love  vou,  Le  Gardeur  !  Whv  will  not  men  con- 
tent  themselves  with  knowing  we  love  them,  without  strip- 
ping oin- favors  of  all  grace  by  making  them  duties.?  and 
in  the  c\\i\,  destroying  our  love  by  marrying  us?  "  A  flash 
of  her  natural  archness  came  over  her  face  as  she  said 
this. 

"  That  would  not  be  your  case  nor  mine,  Angelique," 


SEALS  OF  LOVE,  BUT  SEAVD  IN  VAIiV. 


247 


I) 


replied  he,  somcwliiit  puzxlcd  at  Iior  strant^e  speech.  But 
she  rose  up  su'ldciily  williout  rcplyin<;,  and  walked  to  a 
bullet,  where  stood  \  silver  salver  full  of  refreshments.  "I 
suppose  you  have  feasted  so  ma^Miificeiitly  at  JJehnoiU  that 
you  will  not  care  for  my  humble  hospitalities,"  said  she, 
olVeriii;;  him  a  cup  of  rare  wine,  a  recent  j^ifl  of  the  Intend- 
ant,  which  she  did  not  mention  however.  "  Vou  have  not 
told  me  a  word  yet,  of  the  grand  party  at  Mehnont !  Pierre 
riiilihert  has  been  highly  honored  by  the  J/onnttcs  gens,  I 
am  sure  !  " 

"  And  merits  all  the  hf)nor  he  receives  !  why  were  you 
not  there  too,  Angelicjue  ?  Pierre  would  have  been  delight- 
ed," replied  he,  ever  ready  to  defend  Pierre  Philibert. 

"  And  I  too  !  but  I  feared  to  be  disloyal  to  the  Frip- 
onne  !  "  said  she,  half  mockingly.  "  I  am  a  partner  in  the 
G.and  ('ompany,  you  know,  Le  (Jardeur !  J]ut  I  confess 
Pierre  Philil)ert  is  the  handsomest  man — except  one,  in 
New  Fran^;e.  I  own  to  t/iat.  1  thought  to  pique  Anu'lie 
one  dav,  by  telling  her  so,  but  on  the  contrary,  I  pleased 
her  bej'ond  measure  !  She  agreed  without  excepting  even 
the  one  !" 

"  Amelie  told  me  your  good  opinions  of  Pierre,  and  I 
thanked  you  for  it!  "  said  he,  taking  her  hand  "  And  now, 
darling,  since  you  cannot  with  wine,  wortls  nor  winsomeness 
divert  me  from  my  purpose  in  making  you  declare  what 
you  think  of  me  also,  let  me  tell  you  1  have  promised 
Amrlie  to  bring  her  your  answer  to-night !  " 

The  eyes  of  Le  Gardeur  shone  with  a  light  of  loyal 
afTection.  Angelique  saw  there  was  no  escaping  a  declara- 
tion. She  sat  irresolute  and  trembling,  with  one  hand 
restingonhis  arm  and  the  other  held  up,  deprecatingly.  It 
was  a  piece  of  acting  she  had  rehearsed  to  herself  for 
this  foreseen  occasion.  But  her  tongue,  usually  so  nimble 
and  free,  faltered  for  once  in  the  rush  of  emotions  that 
well  nigh  overpowered  her.  To  become  the  honored  wife 
of  Le  Gard(iur  de  Repentigny,  the  sister  of  the  beauteous 
Aim'lie,  tiie  niece  of  the  noble  Lady  de  Tilly,  was  a  piece 
of  fortune  to  have  satisfied  until  rt-cently,  both  her  heart 
and  her  ambition  !  But  now  Angt'lique  was  the  dupe  of 
dreams  and  fancies.  The  Royal  Intendant  was  at  her 
feet.  France  and  its  courtly  splendors  and  court  intrigues 
opened  vistas  of  grandeur  to  her  aspiring  and  unscrupu- 
lous ambition.  She  could  not  forego  them,  and  would  not ! 


248 


THE  cm  EN  noR. 


She  knew  that,  all  the  tline  her  heart  was  melting  beneath 
the  passionate  eyes  of  Le  Oardcur. 

"  J  )iave  spoken  to  Ainclie  and  promised  to  take  heryour 
answer  to-night,"  said  he  in  a  tone  that  thrilled  every  fibre 
of  her  better  nature.  "  She  is  ready  to  embrace  you  zs 
her  sister.  Will  you  be  my  wife,  Angelique?" 

Ang/'Iique  sat  silent  ;  she  dared  not  loo!;  up  at  him. 
If  she  had,  she  knew  her  hard  resolution  wmild  melt.  She 
felt  his  ga?e  upon  her,  without  seeing  it.  She  grew  pale 
and  tried  to  answer,  no  }  but  could  not,  and  she  would  not 
answer,  yes  ! 

Had  Angelique  looked  up  for  one  moment  in  those 
loving  eyes  of  his  which  of  all  the  world  possessed  a  man's 
power  over  her,  all  might  have  ended  in  kisses  and  tears  of 
joy,  and  this  tragical  history  had  had  no  foundation. 

But  it  was  not  to  be  !  She  cHd  not  look  up,  but  her 
averted  eyes  fell  down  upon  the  glowing  hearth.  The  vis- 
ion she  had  so  wickedly  revelled  in,  flashed  again  upon  her 
at  this  supreme  moment.  She  saw  in  a  panorama  of  a  few 
seconds,  the  gilded  halls  of  Versailles  pass  before  her,  and 
with  the  vision  'Mme  the  old  temptation.  Wicked  imagin- 
ings once  admitted  as  guests,  enter  afterwards  unbidden. 
They  sit  down  familiarly  on  our  hearths  as  masters  in  our 
house,  making  us  their  slaves  for  ever. 

"Angelique!"  repeated  he,  in  a  tone  full  of  pas- 
sionate entreaty,  "  will  you  be  my  wife,  loved  as  no  wo- 
man ever  was  ;  loved  as  alone  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny 
can  love  you  ?  " 

She  knew  tluit.  As  she  weakened  under  his  pleading, 
and  grasped  both  his  hands  tight  in  hers,  she  strove  to 
frame  a  reply  which  should  say  yes  while  it  meant  no, 
and  say  no  which  he  should  interpret  yes. 

"  All  New  h'rance  will  honor  you  as  the  Chatelaine  de 
Repentigny  !  'I'here  will  be  none  higher,  as  there  will  be 
none  fairer  than  mv  bride — !"  Poor  Le  Gardeur  !  He  had 
a  dim  suspicion  that  Angelique  was  looking  to  France  as  a 
fitting  theatre  for  b.er  beauty  and  talents. 

She  still  sat  mute,  and  grew  paler  every  moment.  Words 
formed  themselves  upon  liet  lips,  but  she  feared  to  say 
them,  so  terrible  was  the  earnestness  of  this  man's  love, 
and  no  less  vivid  the  consciousness  of  her  own.  Her  face 
assumed  the  hardness  of  marble,  pale  as  Parian  and  as 
rigid  j  a  trembling  of  her  white  lips  showed  the  strife  going 


11 


SEALS  OF  LOVE  BUT  SEAVD  IN  VAIN. 


249 


If 


;ul 
a 


on  within  lier,  she  covered  her  eyes  wilii  her  hand,  that  he 
might  not  see  tiie  tears  she  felt  quivering  under  the  full 
lids,  but  she  remained  mute. 

"  Ani;eli(iue  !  "  exchiimed  lie,  divining  her  unexpressed 
refusal;  "  whv  do  vou  turn  awav  from  me?  You  sureh' 
do  not  reject  me  ?  But  I  am  mad  to  think  it  !  Spt-ak,  dar- 
ling I  One  word,  one  sign,  one  look  from  those  dear  eyes, 
in  consent  to  be  the  wife  of  Le  (Jardeur,  will  bring  life's 
happiness  to  us  both  !  "  He  took  her  hand,  and  drev.'  it 
gently  from  her  eyes  and  kissed  it,  but  she  still  averted 
her  gaze  from  him  ;  she  could  not  look  at  him  ;  but  the 
words  dropjied  slowly  and  feebly,  from  her  lijjs  in  response 
to  his  appeal  : — 

"  1  love  you,  Le  Gardeur,  but  I  will  not  marry  you  !  " 
said  she.  She  could  not  utter  more,  but  her  hand  grasped 
his  with  a  fierce  pressure,  as  if  wanting  to  hold  him  fast,  in 
the  very  moment  of  refusal. 

He  started  back,  as  if  touched  by  fire.  "  \'ou  love  me, 
but  will  not  marry  me  !  Angelique  !  wliat  mystery  is 
this?  I]rt  you  are  only  trying  me  !  A  thousand  thanks  for 
your  love  ;  the  other  is  but  a  jest  ! — a  good  jest,  which  I  will 
laugh  at !  "  And  Le  Clardeur  tried  to  laugh,  but  it  was  a 
sad  failure,  for  he  saw  she  did  not  join  in  his  effort  at  mer- 
riment, but  looked  pale  and  trembling,  as  if  ready  to 
faint. 

She  laid  her  hands  upon  his  heavily  and  sadly.  He 
felt  her  refusal  in  the  verv  touch.  It  was  like  cold  lead. 
*'  Do  not  laugh,  Le  (lardeur,  1  cannot  laugh  over  it  ;  this  is 
no  jest,  but  mortal  earnest  !  What  1  say  I  mean  !  I  love 
you,  Le  (lardeur,  l)ut  1  will  not  marry  you  !" 

She  drew  her  hands  away,  as  if  to  mark  the  em|)hasis 
she  could  not  speak.  He  felt  it  like  the  drawing  of  his 
heart  strings. 

She  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  him  now,  as  if  to  look 
whether  love  of  her  was  extinguished  in  him  by  her  refusal. 
"  I  love  you,  Le  Crardeur, — you  know  I  do  !  IJut  I  will  not 
— I  cannot — marry  you,  now  !  "  repealed  she. 

"  Now !  "  he  caught  at  the  straw  like  a  drowning  swim- 
mer in  a  whirlpool.  "Now?  I  said  not  now!  but  when 
you  please,  Ange'lique  I  You  are  worth  a  man's  waiting  his 
life  for  !  " 

"  No !  Le  Gardeur,"  she  replied,  "  I  am  not  worth  your 
waiting  for  ;  it  cannot  be,  as  I  once  hoped  it  might  be  j  but 


i 


^    ' 


1    iif 


250 


THE  CHI  END' OR. 


love  you  I  do  and  ever  shall  !  "  and  the  false,  fair  woman 
kissed  him  fatuously.  "I  love  you,  Le  Gardeur,  but  1  will 
not  marry  you  !  " 

"Vou  do  not  surely  mean  it,  Anf^clique  !"  exclaimed  he; 
you  will  not  give  me  death  instead  of  life?  You  cannot  be 
so  false  to  your  own  heart,  so  cruel  to  mine  ?  See,  Angeli- 
que  !  My  saintly  sister  Amelie  believed  in  your  love,  and 
sent  these  flowers  to  place  in  your  hair  when  you  had  con- 
sented to  be  my  wife,  her  sister  ;  you  will  not  refuse  them, 
Angel ique  ? " 

lie  raised  his  hand  to  place  the  garland  upon  her  head, 
but  Angelique  turned  quickly,  and  they  fell  at  her  feet. 
"  Amelie's  gifts  are  not  for  me,  Le  Gardeur  !  I  do  not  merit 
them  !  1  contess  my  fault  ;  I  am,  1  know,  false  to  my  own 
heart,  and  cruel  to  yours.  Despise  me, — kill  me  for  it  if  you 
will,  Le  Gardeur  !  better  you  did  kill  me,  perhaps  !  but  I 
cannot  lie  to  vou,  as  1  can  to  other  men  !  Ask  me  not  to 
change  my  resolution,  for  I  neither  can  nor  will."  She 
spoke  with  impassioned  energy,  as  if  fortifying  her  refusal 
by  the  reiteration  of  it. 

"  It  is  past  comprehension  !  "  was  all  he  could  say,  be- 
wildered at  her  words,  thus  dislocated  from  all  their  natural 
sequence  of  association.  "Love  me  and  not  marry  me  1 
That  means  she  will  marry  another !  "  thought  he,  with  a 
jealous  pang.  "Tell  me,  Angelique  !"  continued  he,  after 
several  moments  of  puzzled  silence,  "is  there  some  inscrut- 
able reason  that  makes  you  keep  mv  love  and  reject  my 
hand?" 

"  No  reason,  Le  Gardeur  I  It  is  mad  unreason, — I  feel 
that — but  it  is  no  less  true.  I  love  you,  but  [  will  not 
marry  you  !  "  She  spoke  with  more  resolution  now.  The 
first  plunge  was  over,  and,  with  it,  her  fear  and  trembling 
as  she  sat  on  the  brink. 

The  iteration  drove  him  beside  himself.  He  seized  her 
hands,  and  exclaimed  with  vehemence  :  "  There  is  a  man — 
a  rival — a  more  fortunate  lover — behind  all  this,  Angelique 
des  Meloises  !  It  is  not  yourself  that  speaks,  but  one  that 
prompts  you.  You  have  given  your  love  to  another,  and 
discarded  me  !     Ls  it  not  so  ?  " 

'•  I  have  neither  discarded  you  nor  loved  another  1 " 
Angelique  equivocated.  She  played  her  soul  away  at  this 
moment  with  the  mental  reservation  that  she  had  not  vet 
done,  what  she  had  resolved  to  do  upon  the  first  oppor- 
tunity,— accept  the  hand  of  the  Intendant  Bigot. 


SEALS  OF  LOVE  BUT  SEALD  LIST  VALJV. 


251 


"  It  is  well  for  that  other  man,  if  there  be  one  !  "  Le 
Gardeur  rose  and  walked  angrily  across  the  room,  two  or 
three  times.  Angelique  was  playing  a  game  of  chess  with 
Satan  for  her  soul,  and  felt  she  was  losing  it. 

"There  was  a  sphinx  in  olden  times,"  said  he,  ''that 
propounded  a  riddle,  and  he  who  failed  to  solve  it  had  to 
die  !  Your  riddle  will  be  the  death  of  me,  for  I  cannot 
solve  it,  Angelique  !  " 

"  Do  not  try  to  solve  it,  dear  Le  Gardeur !  Remember 
that  when  her  riddle  was  solved,  the  sphinx  threw  herself 
into  the  sea.  I  doubt  that  may  be  my  fate  !  But  you  are 
still  my  friend,  Le  Gardeur  1  "  added  she,  seating  herself 
again  by  his  side,  in  her  old  fond  coquettish  manner. 
"See  these  flowers  of  Amelie's,  which  I  did  not  place  in 
my  hair  ;  I  treasure  them  in  my  bosom  !  "  She  gathered 
them  up  as  she  spoke,  kissed  them,  and  placed  them  in  her 
bosom,  "You  are  still  mv  friend,  Le  Gardeur.''"  Her 
eyes  turned  upon  him  with  the  old  look  she  could  so  well 
assume. 

"  I  am  more  than  a  thousand  friends,  Angelique  !  " 
replied  he  ;  "but  I  shall  curse  myself  that  I  can  remain  so, 
and  see  you  the  wife  of  another  !  " 

The  very  thought  drove  him  to  frenzy.  He  dashed  her 
hand  away,  and  sprang  up  towards  the  door,  but  turned 
suddenly  round.  "That  curse  was  not  for  you,  Ange- 
lique !  "  said  he,  pale  and  agitated  ;  "  it  was  for  myself, 
for  ever  believing  in  the  empty  love  you  professed  for  me. 
Good  bye  !  Be  hap])y  !  As  for  me.  the  light  goes  out  of 
my  life,  Angelique,  from  this  day  forth." 

"Oh  stop,  stop,  Le  Gardeur!  do  not  leave  me  so  !  " 
She  rose  and  endeavored  to  restrain  him,  but  he  broke 
from  her,  and,  without  adieu  or  further  parley,  rushed  out 
bareheaded  into  tiie  street.  She  ran  to  the  balcony  to  call 
him  back,  and,  leaning  far  over  it,  cried  out ;  "  Le  Gardeur  ! 
Le  Gardeur  !  "  That  voice  would  have  called  him  from 
the  dead,  could  he  have  heard  it.  But  he  was  already  lost 
in  the  darkness.  A  few  rajiid  steps  resounded  on  the  dis- 
tant pavement,  and  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  was  lost  to 
her  for  ever  ! 

She  waited  long  on  the  balcony,  looking  over  it  for  a 
chance  of  hearing  his  returning  steps  ;  but  none  came.  It 
was  the  last  impulse  of  her  love  to  save  iier,  but  it  was 
useless.     "  O   God  I  "  she  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of   mortal 


i  J;; 

"i 


ft    i 


252 


T//B  CniEN  D'OR, 


agony,  "  he  is  gone  for  ever — my  Lc  Gardeur  !  my  one  true 
lover,  rejected  by  my  own  madness  ;  and  for  wliat  ?  "  She 
thought  for  what  ?  and  in  a  storm  of  passion,  tearing  her 
goklen  hair  over  her  face,  and  beating  her  breast  in  her 
rage,  she  exclaimed  :  "  1  am  wicked,  unutterably  bad,  worse 
and  more  despicable  than  the  vilest  creature  that  crouches 
under  the  bushes  on  the  battnrc  !  How  dared  I,  unwomanly 
thiit  I  am,  reject  the  hand  I  worship,  for  sake  of  a  hand  I 
shoidd  loatiie  in  the  very  act  of  accepting  it  ?  The  slave 
that  is  sold  in  the  market  is  better  than  I,  for  she  has  no 
choice  ;  while  I  sell  mvself  to  a  man  whom  I  alreadv  hate, 
for  he  is  already  false  to  me  !  The  wages  of  a  harlot 
were  more  honestly  earned  than  the  splendor  for  which  I 
barter  soul  and  body  to  this  Intendant  !  " 

The  passionate  girl  threw  herself  upon  the  floor,  nor 
heeded  the  blood  that  oozed  from  her  head,  bruised  on  tl.e 
hard  wood.  Her  mind  was  torn  by  a  thousand  wild  fan- 
cies. Sometimes  she  resolved  to  go  out  like  the  Rose  of 
Sharon  and  seek  her  beloved  in  the  city,  and  throw  herself 
at  his  feet,  making  him  a  royal  gift  of  all  he  claimed  of 
her. 

She  little  knew  her  own  wilful  heart.  She  had  seen 
the  world  bow  to  every  caprice  of  hers,  but  she  never  had 
one  principle  to  guide  her,  except  her  own  pleasure.  She 
was  now  like  a  goddess  of  earth,  fallen  in  an  effort  to 
reconcile  impossibilities  in  human  hearts,  and  became  the 
sport  of  the  powers  of  wickedness. 

She  lay  upon  the  floor,  senseless  :  her  hands  in  a  violent 
clasp.  Her  glorious  hair,  torn  and  disordered,  lay  over  her 
like  the  royal  robe  of  a  queen  stricken  from  her  throne,  and 
lying  dead  upon  the  floor  of  her  palace. 

It  was  long  after  midnight,  in  the  cold  hours  of  the 
morning,  when  she  woke  from  her  swoon.  She  raised  her- 
self feci)ly  upon  her  elbow,  ar.d  looked  dazedly  up  at  the 
rold,  unfeeling  stars,  that  go  on  shining  through  the  ages, 
ir  aking  no  sign  of  sympathy  with  human  griefs.  Perseus 
had  risen  to  his  meridian,  and  Algol,  her  natal  star,  al- 
ternately flarkened  and  brightened,  as  if  it  were  the  scene 
of  some  fierce  conliict  of  the  powers  of  light  and  darkness, 
like  that  going  on  in  her  own  soul. 

Her  face  was  stained  with  hard  clots  of  blood,  as  she 
rose,  cramped  and  chilled  to  the  bone.  The  night  air  had 
blown  coldly  upon  her  through  the  open  lattice  ;  but  she 


II 


THE  HURRIED  QUESTION  OE  DESPAIR. 


253 


would  not  summon  her  m;iicl  to  her  assistance.  Witliout 
undressing  she  threw  herself  upon  a  couch,  and,  utterly 
worn  out  by  the  agitation  she  had  undergone,  slept  far  into 
the  day. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


THE  HURRIED  QUESTION  OF  DESPAIR. 

Le  Gardeur  plunged  headlong  down  the  silent  street, 
neither  knowing  nor  caring  whither.  Half  mad  with  grief, 
half  with  resentment,  he  vented  curses  upon  himself,  upon 
Ang»''iique,  upon  the  world,  and  looked  upon  Providence 
itself  as  in  league  with  the  evil  powers  to  tliwart  his  haj^pi- 
ness — not  seeing  that  his  happiness  in  the  love  of  a  woman 
like  Angeliciue  was  a  house  built  on  sand,  which  the 
first  storm  of  life  would  sweep  away. 

"  Holla  !  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  !  is  that  you  ?  "  ex- 
claimed a  voice  in  the  night.  "  What  lucky  wind  blows 
you  out  at  this  hour  ?  "  Le  Gardeur  stopped  and  recog- 
nized the  Chevalier  de  Pean.  "  Where  are  you  going  in 
such  a  desperate  hurry  ?  " 

"To  the  devil!"  replied  Le  Gardeur,  withdrawing  his 
hand  from  Ue  Pean's,  who  had  seized  ii  wilh  an  amazing 
show  of  friendship.  "  It  is  the  only  road  left  open  to  me, 
and  I  am  going  to  march  down  it  like  :s.  gank  du  corps  of 
Satan  !  Do  not  hold  me,  De  Pean  !  Let  go  my  arm  I 
I  am  going  to  the  devil,  1  tell  you!  " 

"  Why,  Le  Gardeur,"  was  the  reply,  *'  that  is  a  broad 
and  well  travelled  road — ^the  king's  highway,  in  fact.  I 
am  going  upon  it  myself,  as  fast  and  merrily  as  any  man 
in  New  France." 

"  Well,  go  on  it,  then  !  March  either  before  or  after 
me  •:;  only  don't  go  with  me,  De  Pean  !  I  am  taking  the 
shortest  cuts  to  get  to  the  end  of  it,  and  want  no  one  with 
me "  Le  Gardeur  walked  doggedly  on  ;  but  De  Pean 
would  not  be  shook  off.   He  suspected  what  had  happened. 

"  The  shortest  cut  I  know  is  bv  the  Taxerne  cle 
Menut,  where  I  am  going  now,"  said  he,  "and  I  should 
like  your  company,  Le  Gardeur  !      Our  set  are  having  a 


m 


MU 


W  ill 


it,  1 


:        I 

;         f 


254 


T//£:  cm  EX  noR. 


gala  nii^ht  of  it,  and  must  be  musical  as  the  frojrs  of  Beau- 
port  by  this  hour!  Come  alonp; !  "  De  Pean  again  took 
his  arm.     lie  was  not  repelled  this  time. 

"  I  don't  care  where  I  go,  De  Pean  !  "  replied  he,  for- 
getting his  dislike  to  this  man,  and  submitting  to  his  guid- 
ance. The  'I'averne  de  Menut  was  just  the  place  for  him 
to  rush  into,  and  drown  his  disappointment  in  wine.  The 
two  moved  on  in  silence  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  Why,  what  ails  you,  Le  Gardeur  !  "  asked  his  com- 
panion, as  they  walked  on  arm  in  arm.  "  Has  fortune 
frowned  upon  the  cards  ?  or  your  mistress  proved  a  tickle 
jade,  like  all  her  sex  ?  " 

His  words  were  irritating  enough  to  Le  Gardeur.  "  Look 
you,  De  Pean,"  said  he,  stopping,  "  I  shall  quarrel  with 
you  if  you  repeat  such  remarks.  P>ut  you  mean  no  mis- 
chief, I  dare  say,  although  1  would  not  swear  it !  "  Le 
Gardeur  looked  savagely. 

De  Pean  saw  it  would  not  be  safe  to  rub  that  sore 
again.  "  Forgive  me,  Le  Gardeur  !  "  said  he,  with  an  air 
of  sympathy,  well  assumed.  "  I  meant  no  harm.  ,  Put  you 
are  suspicious  of  your  friends  to-night,  as  a  Turk  of  his 
harem." 

"  I  have  reason  to  be  I  and  as  for  friends,  I  find  only 
such  friends  as  you,  De  Pean  !  And  I  begin  to  think  the 
world  has  no  better  !"  The  clock  of  the  Recollets  struck 
the  hour  as  they  passed  under  the  shadow  of  its  wall.  The 
brothers  of  St.  Francis  slept  quietly  on  their  peaceful  pil- 
lows, like  sea  birds  who  find  in  a  rocky  nook  a  refuge  from 
the  ocean  storms.  '"  Do  you  think  the  Recollets  are  hap- 
py, De  Pean  ?  "  asked  he,  turning  abruptly  to  his  compan- 
ion. 

"  Happy  as  oysters  at  high  water,  who  are  never  crossed 
in  love  except  of  their  dinner  !  ])Ut  that  is  neither  your 
luck  nor  mine,  Le  Gardeur  !  "  De  Pean  was  itching  to 
draw  from  his  companion  something  with  reference  to  what 
had  passed  with  Angclique. 

"  Well,  I  would  rather  be  an  oyster  than  a  man,  and 
rather  be  dead  than  either  !  "  was  the  reply  of  Le  Gardeur. 
"  How  soon,  think  you,  will  brandy  kill  a  man,  De  Pean  ?  " 
asked  he,  abruptly  after  a  pause  of  silence. 

"It  will  never  kill  you,  Le  Gardeur,  if  you  take  it  neat 
at  Master  Menut's.  It  will  restore  you  to  life,  vigor  and 
independence   of  man    and    woman.     I   take    mine    there 


THE  HURRIED  QUESTION  OF  DESPAIR.  255 

when  I  am  liijiped  as  you  are,  Le  Ciardeiir.  It  is  a  specific 
for  every  kind  of  ill  fortune — I  warrant  it  will  cure  and 
never  kill  you." 

They  crossed  the  Place  d'Armes.  Nothing  in  sight  was 
moving  except  the  sentries  who  paced  slowly  like  shadows 
up  and  down  the  great  gateway  of  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis. 

"  It  is  still  and  solenni  as  a  church-yard  here,"  remarked 
De  Pean  ;  "all  the  life  of  the  place  is  down  at  Menut's  ! 
I  like  the  small  hours,"  added  he  as  the  chime  of  the 
Recollets  ceased.  "  They  are  easily  counted  and  pass 
quickly,  asleep  or  awake.  "^P wo  o'clock  in  the  '  morning  is 
the  meridian  of  the  day  for  a  man  who  has  wit  to  wait  for 
it  at  Menut's  !  these  small  hours  are  all  that  are  worth 
reckoning  in  a  maivs  life.  !  " 

Without  consenting  to  accompany  De  Pean,  Le  Gar- 
deur  suiYered  himself  to  be  led  by  him.  He  knew  the  com- 
pany that  awaited  him  there — the  wildest  and  most  disso- 
lute gallants  of  the  city  and  garrison  were  usually  assem- 
bled there  at  this  hour. 

'Phe  famous  old  hostelry  was  kept  by  Master  Menut,  a 
burly  Preton,  w'lo  prided  himself  on  keeping  everything 
full  and  plenty  about  his  house — tables  full,  tankards  full, 
guests  full  and  himself  very  full.  'Phe  house  was  to-night 
lit  up  with  unusual  brilliance,  and  was  full  of  company — 
Cadet,  Varin,  Mercier,  and  a  crowd  of  the  friends  and  asso- 
ciates of  the  Grand  Company.  Gambling,  drinking  and 
conversing  in  the  loudest  strain  on  such  topics  as  interested 
their  class,  were  the  amusements  of  the  night.  The  vilest 
thoughts  uttered  in  the  low  Argot  of  Paris  were  much  affected 
by  them.  They  felt  a  pleasure  in  this  sort  of  protest 
against  the  extreme  refinement  of  society,  just  as  the 
Collegians  of  Oxford,  trained  beyond  their  natural  capacity 
in  morals,  love  to  fall  into  slang,  and  like  Prince  Plal,  talk 
to  every  tinker  in  his  own  tongue. 

De  Pean  and  Le  Gardeur  were  welcomed  with  open 
arms  at  the  Taverne  de  Menut.  A  dozen  brinuning  glasses 
"were  offered  them  on  every  side.  De  Pean  drank  mod- 
erately. "  I  have  to  win  back  my  losses  of  last  night," 
said  he,  "  and  must  keep  my  head  clear."  Le  Gardeur,  how- 
ever, refused  nothing  that  was  offered  him.  He  drank  with 
all,  and  drank  every  description  of  liquor.  He  was 
speedily  led  up  into  a  large,  well  furnished  room,  where 
tables    were    crowded  with   gentlemen    playing  cards  and 


256 


THE  CIIIEND'OR. 


i^ 


■(: 


i'l' 
w 


,  MS  '!' 


'\ 


dice  for  piles  of  paper  money  which  was  tossed  from  hand 
to  hand,  with  tin:  <;reatest  nonchahmce  as  the  game  ended 
and  was  renewed. 

Le  Gardeur  pkmged  headlong  into  the  flood  of  dissipa- 
tion. He  i^layed,  drank,  talked  argot  and  cast  off  every 
shred  of  reserve.  He  doubled  his  stakes  and  threw  his 
dice  reckless  and  careless  whether  lie  lost  or  won.  His 
voice  overbore  that  of  the  stoutest  of  the  revellers.  He 
embraced  De  Pean  as  his  friend,  who  returned  his  compli- 
ments by  declaring  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  to  be  the 
king  of  good  fellows,  "  who  had  the  strongest  head  to  carry 
wine  and  the  stoutest  heart  to  defy  dull  care  of  any  man 
in  Quebec." 

De  Pean  watched  with  malign  satisfaction  the  progress 
of  Le  Gardeur's  intoxication.  If  he  seemed  to  ilag,  he 
challenged  him  afresh  to  drink  to  belter  fortune ;  and 
when  he  lost  the  stakes,  to  drink  again  to  spite  ill  luck. 

But  let  a  veil  be  dropped  over  the  wild  doings  of  the 
Taverne  de  Menut.  Le  Gardeur  lay  insensible  at  last 
upon  the  floor,  where  he  would  have  remained  had  not 
some  of  the  servants  of  the  inn  who  knew  him  lifted  him 
up  compassionately,  and  placed  him  upon  a  couch,  where 
he  lay,  breathing  heavily  like  one  dying.  His  eyes 
were  fixed;  his  mouth,  where  the  kisses  pf  his  sister* still 
lingered,  was  partly  opened,  and  his  hands  were  clenched, 
rigid  as  a  statue's. 

"  He  is  ours  now,  !  "  said  De  Pean  to  Cadet.    "  He  will 
not  again  put  his  head, under  the  wing  of  the  Philiberts!  " 

The  two  men  looked  at  him,  and  laughed  brutally. 

"  A  fair  lady  whom  you  know,  Caclet,  has  given  him 
liberty  to  drink  himself  to  death,  and  he  will  do  it." 

"  Who  is  that  ?     Angelique  ?  "  asked  Cadet. 

"Of  course  ;  who  else.''  and  Le  Gardeur  won't  be  the 
first  or  last  man  she  has  put  under  stone  sheets,"  replied 
De  Pean,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"  Gloria  patri,  filioqiic^''  exclaimed  Cadet,  mockingly. 
*'  The  Jionnetcs  g.'fis  will  lose  their  trump  card.  How  did 
you  get  him  away  from  Belmont,  De  Pean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  was  not  I  ;  Angelique  des  Meloises  set  the 
trap  and  whistled  the  call  that  brought  him,"  replied  De 
Pean. 

*'  Like  her,  the  incomparable  witch  !  "  exclaimed  Cadet, 
with  a  hearty  laugh.     "  She  would  lare  the  very  devil    to 


THE  HURRIED  QUESTION  OF  DESPAIR. 


257 


play  her  tricks  instead  of  his  own.  She  would  beat  Satan 
at  his  best  jj^anie  to  ruin  a  man." 

''It  would  be  all  the  same,  Cadet,  I  fancy — Satan  or 
she  I      liut  where  is  IJigol  ?     1  expected  him  here. 

"  Oh,  he  is  in  a  tantrum  to-night,  and  would  not  come. 
That  piece  of  his  at  Beaumanoir  is  a  thorn  in  his  tlesh,  and 
a  snow-ball  on  his  spirits.  She  is  taming  liim  !  IJy  St. 
Cocufm  !  Bigot  loves  that  woman  !  " 

"I  told  you  that  l)ef<)re,  C'adet  ;  I  saw  it  a  montii  ago, 
and  was  sure  of  it  on  that  night  when  he  would  not  bring 
her  up  to  show  her  to  us. 

"Such  a  fool,  I)e  Pean,  to  care  for  any  woman  !  What 
will  Bigot  do  with  her,  think  you  "i  " 

''  How  should  1  know?  Send  her  adrift  some  fine  day, 
I  suppose,  down  the  Rivifere  du  Loup.  He  will,  if  he  is  a 
sensible  man.  He  dare  not  marry  any  woman  without 
license  from  La  Pompadour,  you  know.  The  jolly  tlsh- 
woman  holds  a  tight  rein  over  her  favorites.  Bigot  may 
keep  as  many  women  as  Solomon — the  more  the  merrier  ; 
but  woe  befalls  him  if  he  marries  without  La  Pompadour's 
consent.  !  They  say  she  dotes  herself  on  Bigot  ;  lliat  is  the 
reason."  De  Pean  really  believed  that  was  the  reason  j 
and  certainly  there  was  reason  for  suspecting  it. 

"  Cadet  !  Cadet  !  "  exclaimed  several  voices.  *'  You 
are  fined  a  basket  of  champagne  for  leaving  the  table." 

"  I'll  pay  it,"  replied  he,  "and  double  it ;  but  it  is  hot 
as  Tartarus  in  here.  I  feel  like  a  grilled  salmon."  And, 
indeed,  Cadet's  broad,  sensual  face  was  red  and  glowing  as 
a  harvest  moon.  He  walked  a  little  unstead}-,  too,  and 
his  naturallv  coarse  voice  sounded  thick,  but  his  hard 
brain  never  gave  way  beyond  a  certain  point  under  any 
quantity  of  liquor. 

"I  am  going  to  get  some  fresh  air,"  said  he.  "  I  shall 
walk  as  far  as  the  Fleur-de-Lys.  They  never  go  to  bed  at 
that  jolly  old  inn." 

"  I  will  go  with  you!  "  "  And  I !  "  exclaimed  a  dozen 
voices. 

"  Come  on,  then;  we  will  all  go  to  the  old  dog-hole, 
where  they  keep  the  best  brandy  in  Quebec.  It  is  smug- 
gled, of  course  ;  but  that  makes  it  all  the  better." 

Mine  host  of  the  Taverne  de  Menut  comI)atted  this 
opinion  of  the  goodness  of  the  liquors  at  the  I'leur  de  Lys. 
"  His  brandy  had    paid    the   king's  duties,  and   bore  the 

17 


I 


258 


T///;  cniEN-  D'OR. 


stamp  of  ihc  Cjiancl  Compniiy,"  he  said;  and  he  ap- 
pealed to  every  gentleman  present  on  the  goodness  of  his 
liquors. 

Cadet  and  the  rest  took  another  round  of  it  to  please 
the  landlord,  and  sallied  out  uiih  no  little  noise  and  con- 
fusion. Some  of  them  struck  up  (he  famous  son|i,  v.hich 
beyond  all  others,  best  expressed  the  gay,  rollicking  spirit 
of  the  l-'rench  nation  and  of  the  times  of  the  old  regime; — 

Vive  ITcnri  Qiiatic  ! 
A'ivc  Ic  Koi  vaillaiit ! 
Cc  (lial)lc  a  (|uatrc, 
A  Ic  triple  talent, 
l)e  hoire  et  dc  hattrc, 
l'!t  d'  etie  iin  vert  galant ! 

When  the  noisy  party  arrived  at  the  Tletir  de  Lys,  they 
entered  without  ceremony  into  aspacijus  room — low,  with 
heavy  beams,  and  with  roughly  plastered  walls,  which  were 
stuck  o\cr  with  proclatnations  of  (iovernors  and  Inten- 
dants  and  dingy  ballads  brought  b}'  sailors  from  French 
ports. 

A  loncf  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  was  surrounded 
by  a  lot  of  fellows,  plainly  of  the  baser  sort — sailors,  boat- 
men, voyai^ciirs — in  rcnigh  clothes,  and  iitqia.^  red  or  blue, 
upon  their  heads.  I'^ery  one  had  a  pipe  in  his  mouth. 
Soiue  were  talking  with  loose,  l()t|uacious  tongues  ;  some 
were  singing;  their  ugly,  jolly  visages — half  illumined 
by  the  light  of  tallow  cand!cs,  stuck  in  ron  sconces  on  the 
•wall — were  worthy  of  the  vulgar,  but  faithful  Dutch  pencils 
of  Schalken  and  Teniers.  I'hey  were  singing  u  song  as 
the  new  company  came  in. 

At  the  head  of  the  table  sat  Master  Pothier,  with  a 
black  earthen  mug  of  Norman  cider  in  one  hand  and  a  pipe 
in  the  other.  His  budget  of  law  hung  on  a  peg  in  the 
corner,  as  quite  superfluous  at  a  free-and-easy  at  the  Fleur 
de  Lys. 

Max  Grimeau  and  blind  "Bartemy  had  arrived  in  good 
time  for  the  eel-pie.  They  sat  one  on  each  side  of  Master 
Pothier,  full  as  ticks,  and  merry  as  grigs ;  a  jolly  song  was 
in  progress  as  Cadet  entered. 

The  company  rose  and  bowed  to  the  gentlemen  who 
had  honored  them  with  a  call.  "  Pray  sit  down,  gentle- 
men,   take  our  chairs  !  "  exclaimed  Master  Pothier,  ofifici- 


I 


THE  irrRRFED  QUESTION  OF  DESPAIR.         259 


Id 

s 


a 
)e 

Mr 


10 


ously  offering;  his  to  C.ulct,  who  acccptotl  il,  as  well  as 
the  l)lack  mu^^,  of  which  he  drank  heartily,  declarin;;  "old 
Norman  cider  suited  his  tasie  better  than  the  choicest 
wine." 

"  We  are  your  most  humble  servitors,  and  hiL;hIy  esteem 
the  honor  of  your  visit,''  said  Master  rothier,  as  he  refilled 
the  black  mu.:j^. 

Jolly   fellows!  "    replied    Cadet,    stretching   his    leji^s 


does     look    comfortable. 


1  )o   vou 


you   like   it   or   because   you  cannot 


refreshinijjly. 
drink    cider  be 
afford  better?' 

"'I'here  is  nothing  better  than  Norman  cider,  except 
Cognac  brand}',"  replied  Master  l^othier,  grinning  from 
ear  to  ear.  "  Norman  cider  is  fit  for  a  king,  and  with  a 
lining  of  brandy  is  drink  for  a  Pope!  It  will  make  a  man 
see  stars  at  noonday.    WVjn't  it,  Bartemy  .''  " 

"What!  old  lurn-pcnny  !  are  you  here  ?"  cried  Cadet, 
recognizing  the  old  beggar  of  the  gate  of  the  Ikisse 
Ville. 

"  ()  yes,  your  honor  !"  replied  liartemy,  with  his  pro- 
febSiJnal  whine,  ''^  pour  rumour  (/c  D/'ci/l'" 

"Gad!  you  are  the  jollicst  beggar  I  know  out  of  the 
Frip  )nne,"  replied  C'adet  throwing  him  an  i'cu. 

''  He  is  not  a  jollier  beggar  than  I  am,  your  honor," 
said  Max  (xrimeau,  grinning  like  an  Alsatian  over  a 
Strasbourg  pie.  "  It  was  I  sang  bass  in  the  ballad,  as  you 
canii  in,  you  might  have  heard  me,  your  honor  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  I  did,  I  will  be  sworn  there  is  not  a  jollier 
beggar  in  Quebec  than  you,  old  Max  !  Here  is  an  ecu  for 
you  too,  to  drink  the  Intendant's  health,  and  another  for 
you,  you  roving  limb  of  the  law,  Master  Pothier !  Come 
Master  Pothier  !  I  will  till  your  ragged  gown  full  as  a 
demijohn  of  brandy  if  you  will  go  on  with  the  song  you 
were  singing." 

"  We  were  at  the  old  ballad  of  the  Font  (V Avignon^  your 
honor,"  :  eplied  Master  Pothier. 

"  And  I  was  playing  it,"  interrupted  Jean  La  Marche, 
"  youmight  have  heard  my  \iolin,  it  is  a  good  one.  !  "  Jean 
would  not  hide  his  talent  in  a  napkin  on  so  auspicious  an 
occasion  as  this.  He  ran  his  bow  over  the  strings,  and 
played  a  few  bars, — "  that  was  the  tune,  your  honor." 

"  Aye,  that  was  it  !  I  know  the  jolly  old  song  !  now  go 
on  !  "  Cadet  thrust  his   thumbs  into   the  armholes  of  his 


ii 


1 
I 

ii 


260 


77//i  CniEX  D'OR 


laccfl  waistcoat  and  listened  attentively.  Rough  as  he  was, 
he  liked  the  old  Canadian  music. 

Jean  tuned  iiis  tiddle  afresh,  and  placing  it  with  a  know- 
\x\<^  jerk  under  his  cliin,  and  with  an  air  of  c-onceit  worthy 
of  I^ulli,  began  to  sing  and  j^lay  tlie  old  ballad: 

"  A  St.  Main,  beau  port  dc  mcr, 
'I'rois  navircs  sor.t  aiiiv«'s, 
('hai\i;('s  d'avniii'.',  cliarm's  dc  b!od  ; 
Trois  dames  s'cn  vont  Ics  marchandcr  !" 

"Tut!"  exclaimed  Varin,  "who  cares  for  things  that 
have  no  more  point  in  them  than  a  dumpling!  give  us  a 
madrigal,  or  one  of  the  devil's  ditties  from  the  ([uartier 
Lalin  1  " 

"  1  do  not  know  a  "devil's  ditty,"  and  woukl  not  sing  one 
if  I- did,"  replied  jean  La  Marche,  jealous  of  the  ballads 
of  his  own  New  France.  "Indians  cannot  swear  because 
they  know  no  oaths,  and  habitans  cannot  sing  devil's 
ditties  because  they  never  learned  them,  but  "  St  Malo, 
beau  jiort  de  mer,"  I  will  sing  that,  with  any  man  in  the 
Colony  !  " 

The  ])opular. songs  of  the  French  Canadians  are  simple, 
almost  infantine  in  their  language,  and  as  chaste  in  ex- 
pression as  the  hymns  of  other  countries.  Jm])ure  songs 
originate  in  classes  who  know  better,  and  revel  from  choice 
in  nuisical  slang  and  indecency. 

"  Sing  what  you  like  !  "  and  never  mind  Varin,  my  good 
fellow,"  "-aid  Cadet,  stretching  himself  in  his  chair,  "I 
like  the  old  Canadian  ballads  better  than  all  the  devil's 
ditties  ever  made  in  Paris  !  you  must  sing  your  devil's 
ditties  yourself,  Varin,  owx  /wbifans  won't,  that  is  sure  !  " 

After  an  hour's  roysteiingat  the  Fleur  de  Lys  the  partvof 
gentlemen  returned  to  the  Taverne  de  Menut,  a  good  deal 
more  unsteady  and  more  obstreperous  than  when  they 
came.  Thev  left  Master  ]*othier  seated  in  his  chair, 
drunk  as  liacchus,  and  every  one  of  the  rest  of  his  com- 
panions 1)1  ind  as  Bartemy. 

The  gentlemen  on  their  return  to  the  Taverne  de 
Menut,  found  De  Pean  in  a  rage.  Pierre  Philibert  had 
followed  Amelie  to  the  city,  and  learning  the  cause  of  hor 
anxiety  and  unconcealed  tears,  started  otf  with  the  deter- 
mination to  find  Le  Gardeur. 

The  officer  of  the  guard  at   the  gate  of  the  Basse  Ville, 


THE  HURRIED  QUESTION  OF  DESPAIR. 


261 


was  nhle  to  direct  him  to  the  rij^lit  quarter,  lie  hastened 
to  the  Tavcriie  dc  MiMuit,  and  in  haughty  dctiance  of  De 
Pcan,  with  whom  he  had  hi;;h  words,  he  ^ot  tiie  unfortun- 
ate Le  Oardeur  away,  pI.Ki-d  iiini  in  a  carriaj^e,  and  took 
him  home,  rcceivinj^  from  Amelie  such  sweet  and  sincere 
thanks  as  he  thouglit  a  life's  service  couUl  scarcely  have 
deserved. 

''J'arDicul  that  I'hilihert  is  a  ^anu-cr)ck,  De  Tean," 
exclaimed  Cadet,  to  the  savaj,^e  annoyance  of  the  Secretary. 
"  He  has  pluck  and  impudence  for  ten  ,i,'vr/v/'j-  t/u  corps.  It 
was  neater  done  than  at  iicaunianoir  !  "  Cadet  sat  down 
to  enjoy  a  broad  lauj,di  at  the  e\|H'nse  of  his  friend  over 
the  second  carrvinf'  olf  of  I,e  (lardeur. 

"Curse  him!  1  could  have  run  him  through,  and  am 
sorry  I  did  not,"  exclaimed  De  Pean. 

"  No,  you  could  not  lia\e  run  him  throu<:;h,  and  you 
would  have  been  sorry  had  you  tried  it,  De  j'ean,"  re|jlied 
Cadet,  "  that  riiilibert  is  not  as  safe;  as  the  bank  of  l''rance  to 
draw  upon.  1  tell  you  it  was  well  for  yourself  you  did 
not  try,  De  Pean."  Put  never  mind,"  continued  Cadet, 
"there  is  never  so  bad  a  day  but  there  is  a  fair  to-morrow 
after  it,  so  make  uj)  a  hand  at  cards  with  me  and  Cc^lonel 
Trivio,  and  put  money  in  your  purse,  it  will  salve  your 
bruised  feelinj^s."  De  Pean  failed  to  lau^h  off  his  ill- 
humor,  but  he  took  Cadet's  advice  and  sat  down  to  play 
for  the  remainder  of  the  ni<;ht. 

"Oh,  Pierre  I'hilibert !  how  can  we  sufficiently  thank 
you  for  your  kindness  to  my  dear,  unhaj^py  brother  ?  "  said 
Amelie  to  him,  her  eyes  tremulous  with  tears  and  her 
hand  convulsively  clasping  his,  as  i'ierre  took  lea\e  of  her 
at  the  door  of  the  mansion  of  the  Lad\'  de  Tillv. 

"  Le  Gardeur  claims  our  deepest  commiseration,  Ame- 
lie," replied  he  ;  "you  know  how  this  has  happened  ?" 

"  I  do  know,  Pierre,  and  shame  to  know  it.  Put  you 
are  so  generous  ever.  Do  not  l)lamc  me  for  this  agita- 
tion ! "  She  strove  to  steady  herself,  as  a  ship  will  right 
up  for  a  moment  in  veering. 

'•  Plame  you  ?  what  a  thought !  As  soon  blame  the 
angels  for  being  good  !  P)Ut  I  have  n  ]5lan,  Amelie,  for  Le 
Gardeur.  Wq  must  get  him  out  of  the  city  and  back  to 
Tilly  for  awhile.  Your  noble  aunt  has  given  me  an  invita- 
tion to  visit  the  Manor  House.  What  if  I  manage  to 
accompany  Le  Gardeur  to  his  dear  old  home  ? 


,5  ,1 


]'l"l 


nia  ^ , 


m  \ 


26: 


TI/E  CHIEiV  D'OK. 


"  A  visit  to  Tilly  in  your  company  would,  of  all  things, 
delight  Lc  G.irdeur,"  said  she;  "and  perhaps  break  those 
ties  that  bind  him  to  the  city." 

These  were  pleasing  words  to  Philibert,  and  bethought 
how  delightful  would  be  her  own  fair  presence  also  at 
Tilly. 

"All  the  physicians  in  the  world  will  not  help  Le  Gar- 
deur  as  will  your  comjxmy  at  Tilly  !  "  exclaimed  she,  with 
a  sudden  access  of  hope.  "  Le  Gardeur  needs  not 
medicine,  only  care,  and — " 

"  The  love  he  has  set  his  heart  on,  Ame'lie  !  Men 
sometimes  die  when  they  fail  in  that."  He  looked  at  her 
as  he  said  this,  but  instantly  withdrew  h's  eyes,  fearing  he 
had  been  over  bold. 

She  blushed,  and  only  replied  with  absolute  indirec- 
tion :  "  Oh,  1  am  so  thankful  to  you,  IMerre  Philibert !  " 
But  she  gave  him,  as  he  left,  a  look  of  gratitude  and  love 
which  never  effaced  itself  frou"  his  memorv.  In  after 
years,  when  Pierre  Philibert  cared  not  for  the  light  of  the 
sun,  nor  for  woman's  love,  nor  for  life  itself,  tiie  tender, 
impassioned  glance  of  those  dark  eyes  wet  with  tears 
came  back  to  him  like  a  break  in  the  dark  clouds,  disclos- 
ing the  blue  heaven  beyond  ;  and  he  longetl  to  be  there. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

BETWEEN  THE  LATEST  VIOLET  AND  THE    EARLIEST  ROSE. 

"Do  not  go  out  to-day,  brother,  I  w.mt  you  so  particu- 
larly to  stay  with  me  to-day,"  said  Amelie  de  Repentigny, 
with  a  gentle,  pleading  voice.  "Aunt  has  resolved  tore- 
turn  tc  Tilly  to-morrow  ;  I  ncad  your  help  to  arrange  these 
papers  ;  and  mvj  way  I  want  your  company,  broiher,"  added 
she,  smiling. 

Le  Gardeur  sat  feverish,  nervous  and  ill  after  his  wild 
night  spent  at  the  Tavern  de  Menut.  He  started  and  red- 
dened as  his  sister's  eyes  rested  on  him.  He  looked 
through  the  open  window  like  a  wild  animal,  ready  to  spring 
out  of  it  and  escape. 


f.^;vx 


''BETWEEN  THE  LATEST  VIOLET,  ETCr         263 


A  raging  thirst  was  on  liiin,  which  Amelie  sought  to 
assuage  by  draughts  of  water,  milk  and  tea — a  sisterly 
attention  wliich  he  more  tlian  once  acknowledged  by  kiss- 
ing the  lo\ing  fingers  which  waited  upon  liiin  so  tenderly. 

"I  cannot  stay  in  the  house,  AnK'lie,"  said  he;  *' I 
shall  go  mad  if  I  do  !  You  know  how  it  has  fared  with 
me,  sweet  sister  !  I  yesterday  built  up  a  tower  of  glass, 
high  as  heaven — my  heaven  :  a  woman's  love.  To-day  I  am 
crushed  under  the  ruins  of  it. 

"  Say  not  so,  brother  !  you  w-ere  not  made  to  be  crushed 
by  the  nay  of  any  faithless  woman.  Oh,  why  will  men  think 
more  of  our  sex  than  we  deserve  .''  How  few  of  us  do  deserve 
the  de\otion  of  a  good  and  true  man  !  " 

"  How  few  men  would  be  worthv  of  vou,  sweet  sister  !" 
replied  he  proudly.  "Ah!  hi.\d  Angelique  had  your  heart, 
Amelie !  " 

"  You  will  be  glad  one  day  of  your  present  sorrow, 
brother,"  replied  she.  "  It  is  bitter,  1  know,  and  I  feel  its 
bitterness  with  you  ;  but  life  with  Angeli(|ue  would  have 
been  infmitely  harder  to  bear." 

He  shook  his  head,  not  incredulously  but  dofiantlv  at 
fate.  "  I  would  have  accepted  it,"  said  he,  *'  had  I  been  sure 
life  with  her  had  been  hard  as  millstones  !  My  love  is  of 
the  perverse  kind,  not  to  be  transnmted  by  any  furnace  of 
fiery  trial." 

"  1  have  no  answer,  brother,  but  this,"  and  Vmelie 
stooped  and  kissed  his  fevered  forehead.  She  was  too 
wise  to  reason  in  a  case  where  she  knea'  reason  always 
made  default. 

"  What  has  happened  at  the  Manor  House  ?  "  asked  he, 
after  a  short  silence.  "  That  aunt  is  going  to  return  home 
sooner  than  she  expected  when  she  left." 

"There  are  reports  to-day  of  Iroquois  on  the  upper 
Chaudiere,  and  her  censitaires  are  eager  to  return  'o  guard 
their  homes  from  the  i)rowling  savages  ;  and  what  is  more, 
you  and  Colonel  IMiilibert  are  ordered  to  go  to  Til'y,  to 
look  after  the  defence  of  the  Seigneurie." 

Le  Gardeur  sat  bolt  upright.  His  military  knowledge 
could  not  comprehend  an  apparently  useless  order.  '*  Pierre 
rhi]il)ert  and  I  ordered  to  i'illy  to  look  after  the  defence 
of  the  Seigneurie  !  We  had  no  information  \esterday  that 
Iroquois  were  within  fifty  leagues  of  Tilly.  It  is  a  false 
rumor,  raised   by  the  goo;l  wives,  to  get  their    husbands 


I 


m 

Irk 

It' 


264 


Tl/Ii  CIHEN  D'OR. 


home  again  !  Don't  you  think  so,  Ame'lie  ? "  asked  he,smiling 
for  the  first  time. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  so,  Le  Gardcur  !  But  it  would  be  a 
pretty  ruse  dc  guerre,  were  it  true  !  the  i^ood  wives  natural- 
ly feel  nervous  at  being  left  alone  ;  I  should  myself,"  added 
she  playfully. 

"  O,  I  don't  know,  the  nervous  ones  have  all  come  with 
the  men  to  the  ciiy  ;  but  I  suppose  the  works  are  sufficiently 
advanced,  and  the  men  can  be  spared  to  return  home.  But 
what  says  Pierre  Philibert  to  the  order  despatching  him  to 
Tilly  ?  You  have  seen  him  since  ?  " 

Amelie  blushed  a  little,  as  she  replied  :  "Yes,  I  have 
seen  him  ;  he  is  well  content,  I  think,  to  see  Tilly  once  more 
in  your  company,  brother." 

"And  in  yours,  sister  ! — Why  blush,  Ame'lie?  Pierre  is 
worthy  of  you,  should  he  ever  say  to  you  what  I  so  vainly 
said  last  night  to  Angc'lique  des  Meloises  !  "  Le  Gardeur 
held  her  tigluly  by  the  hand. 

Her  face  was  glow  ing  scarlet :  she  was  in  utter  confusion. 
"Oh  stop,  brother  !  don't  say  such  things  !  Pierre  never  ut- 
tered such  thoughts  to  me  \ — never  will  in  all  likelihood  !  " 

"  ]jut  he  will  !  i\nd,  my  darling  sister,  when  Pierre 
Philibert  shall  sav  he  luves  vou,  and  ask  vou  to  be  his 
wife,  if  you  love  him,  if  you  pity  me,  do  not  say  him  nay  1" 
She  was  trembling  with  agitation,  and  without  power  to 
reply.  But  Le  Gardeur  felt  her  hand  tighten  uj^on  his.  He 
comprehended  the  involuntary  sign,  drew  her  to  him,  kissed 
her,  and  left  the  topic  without  pressing  it  further;  leav- 
ing it  in  the  most  formidable  shape  to  take  deep  root  in 
the  silent  meditations  of  Amt'lie. 

'i'he  rest  of  the  day  passed  in  such  sunshine  as  Amt'lie 
could  throw  over  her  brother.  Her  soft  inlluence  retained 
him  at  home  :  she  refreshed  him  with  her  conversation,  and 
sympathy,  drew  from  hi'.n  the  pitiful  story  of  his  love,  and  its 
bitter  ending.  She  knew  the  relief  of  disburthening  his 
surcharged  heart ;  and  to  none  but  his  sister,  from  whom  he 
hatl  never  had  a  secret  until  this  episode  in  his  life,  would 
he  have  spoken  a  word  of  his  heart's  trouble. 

Numerous  were  the  visitors  to-day  at  the  hospitable 
mansion  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  ;  but  Le  Gardeur  would  see 
none  of  them,  excejjt  Pierre  Philibert,  who  lode  over  as 
soon  as  he  was  relieved  from  his  military  attendance  at 
the  Castle  of  St.  Louis. 


"BETWEEN  THE  LATEST  VIOLET,  ETCr        265 


Le  Gardeur  received  Pierre  with  an  effusion  of 
grateful  affection — touchinjj^,  Ijecaiisc  real.  His  handsome 
face,  so  like  Anu'lie's,  was  peculiarly  so  wlien  it  expressed 
the  emotions  habitual  to  her,  and  the  pleasure  both  felt 
in  the  presence  of  Pierre  brought  out  resemblances  that 
flashed  fresh  on  the  quick,  observant  eye  of  Pierre. 

The  afternoon  w.is  spent  in  conversation  of  that  kind 
which  gives  and  takes  with  mutual  delight.  Le  Gardeur 
seemed  more  his  old  self  again  in  the  company  of  Pierre  ; 
Amelie  was  charmed  at  the  \isible  influence  of  Pierre  over 
him,  and  a  hoi^e  sprang  uj)  in  her  l)osom,  that  the  little 
artifice  of  beguiling  Le  Gardeur  to  Tilly,  in  the  companion- 
ship of  Pierre,  might  be  the  means  of  thwarting  those  ad- 
verse influences  which  were  dragging   him    to  destruction. 

If  Pierre  Philibert  grew  more  animated  in  the  presence 
of  those  bright  eyes,  which  were  at  once  appreciati\'e  and 
sympathizing,  Ann'lie  drank  in  the  conversation  of  Pierre 
as  one  drinks  the  wine  of  a  favorite  vintage.  If  her 
heart  grew  a  little  intoxicated,  what  the  wonder  ? 
Furtively  as  she  glanced  at  the  manly  countenance  of 
Fierre,  she  saw^  in  it  the  rellection  of  his  noble  mind  and 
indej')endent  spirit  ;  and,  remembering  the  injimction  of  Le 
Gardeur  — for,  woman-like  she  sought  a  sup|)oit  out  of 
herself  to  justify  a  foregone  conclusion — she  thought  that 
if  Pierre  asked  her,  she  could  be  content  to  share  his  lot, 
and  her  greatest  happiness  would  be  to  live  in  the  posses- 
sion of  his  love. 

Pierre  Philibert  took  his  depatture  early  from  the 
house  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  to  make  his  preparations  for 
leaving  the  city  next  day.  His  father  was  aware  of  his 
project,  and  apj^roved  of  it. 

The  toils  of  the  day  were  over  in  the  house  of  the  Chien 
D'or.  'l"he  Bourgeois  took  his  hat  and  sword,  and  went 
out  for  a  walk  upon  the  Cape,  wliere  a  cool  breeze  came  up 
fresh  from  the  broad  river.  It  was  just  the  turn  of  tide. 
The  full  brimming  waters,  reflecting  here  and  there  a  star, 
began  to  sparkle  under  the  clear  moon  tiiat  rose  slowly 
and  majestically  over  the  hills  of  tlie  South  Shore. 

The  Bourgeois  sat  d<-)wn  on  the  low  wall  of  the  terrace 
to  enjoy  the  freshness  and  beauty  of  the  scene,  which, 
although  he  hatl  seen  it  a  hundred  times  before,  never 
looked  lo\elier,  he  thought,  than  this  evening.  He  was 
very  happy  in   his   silent   thoughts  over  his  son's  return 


266 


THE  CIHEN  D'OR. 


\W 


«1'i 


15  1 


home  ;  and  llic  general  respect  paid  him  on  the  day  of  his 
fete  had  been  more  felt,  perhaps,  by  the  Bourgeois  than  by 
Pierre  himself. 

As  he  indulged  in  these  meditations,  a  well-known 
voice  suddenly  accosted  him.  He  turned  and  was  cor- 
dially greeted  by  the  Count  de  la  Galissoniere.  and  Herr 
Kalm,  who  liad  sauntered  through  the  garden  of  the 
Castle,  and  directed  their  stejis  towards  the  Cape,  with 
intention  to  call  ui^on  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  pay  their 
respects  to  her  before  she  left  the  City. 

'riie  ]Jourgeois  learning  their  intentions,  said  he  would 
accompany  them,  as  he,  too,  owed  a  debt  of  courtesy  to  the 
noble  Lady  and  her  niece  Amrlie,  which  he  would  discharge 
at  the  same  time. 

The  three  gentkmen  walked  gravely  on,  in  pleasant 
conversation.  The  clearness  of  the  moonlit  night  threw 
the  beautiful  landscape,  with  its  e;trongly  accentuated  fea- 
tures, into  contrasts  of  light  and  shade,  to  which  the  pen- 
cil of  Rembrandt  alone  could  have  done  justice.  Herr 
Kalm  was  enthusiastic  in  his  admiration.  Moonlight  over 
Drachenfels  on  the  Rhine,  or  the  midnight  sun  peering 
over  the  Gulf  of  IJothnia,  reminded  him  of  something  sim- 
ilar, but  of  nothing  so  grand  on  the  whole  as  the  matchless 
scene  visible  from  Cape  Diamond — worthy  of  its  name. 

Lady  de  Tilly  received  her  visitors  with  the  gracious 
courtesy  liabitual  to  her.  She  especially  appreciated  the 
v'isit  frou".  the  llourgeois,  who  so  rarely  honored  the  houses 
cf  his  friends  by  his  welcome  presence.  As  for  his 
Excellency,  she  remarked,  smiling,  it  was  his  olTicial  duty 
to  represent  the  politeness  of  France  to  the  ladies  of  the 
Colony,  while  Herr  Kalm  representing  the  Science  of 
Eu'n-pe,  ouglit  to  be  honored  in  every  house  he  chose  to 
visit.  Slie  certainly  esteemed  the  honor  of  his  presence  in 
her  own. 

Amelie  made  her  appearance  in  the  drawing  room,  and 
while  the  visitors  stayed,  exerted  herself  to  the  utmost,  to 
pleu-ie  and  interest  them  l)y  taking  a  ready  and  symj^athe- 
Jc  part  in  their  conversation.  Her  quick  and  cultivated 
intellect  enabled  her  to  do  so  to  the  delight  and  even 
surprise  of  the  three  grave  learned  g.  .itlemen.  She  lacked 
neithe*-  information  nor  opinions  of  iier  own,  while 
her  speech,  soft  and  womanly,  gave  a  delicacy  to  her  free 
yet  modest  utt  u^inces,  that  made  her  in  their  recollections 


"  BETWEEN  THE  LATEST  VIOLET,  (Sr'C."         267 

of  her  in  the  future,  a  standard  of  comparison,  a  measure  of 
female  perfections. 

Le  Oardeur,  learning  who  were  in  tlie  house,  came  down 
after  a  while,  to  thank  the  Governor,  the  Bourgeois  and 
Herr  Kalm,  for  the  honor  of  their  visit.  Me  exerted  himself 
by  a  desperate  effort  to  be  conversal)le.  not  very  success- 
fully however  ;  for  had  not  Ame'lie  watched  him  with 
deepest  sym]Datiiy  and  adroitly  ''died  the  breaks  in  his 
remarks,  he  would  have  failed  lo  pass  himself  creditably 
before  the  Governor.  As  it  was,  Le  Gardeur  contented 
himself  with  following  the  flow  of  conversation,  which  wel- 
led u])  copiously  from  the  lips  of  the  rest  of  the  company. 

After  a  while,  came  in  I'elix  IJaudoin  in  his  full  livery, 
reserved  for  special  occasions,  and  announced  to  his  Lady 
that  tea  was  served.  The  gentlemen  were  in\-ited  to  partake 
of  wiiat  was  then  a  novelty  in  Xew  France.  Tiie  ilourgeois 
in  the  course  of  the  new  traffic  with  China,  that  had  lately 
sprung  up  in  consequence  of  the  discovery  of  ginseng  in 
New  j''rance,  had  imported  some  chests  of  tea  which  the 
Lady  de  Tilly  with  instinctive  perception  of  its  utility 
adopted  at  once,  as  the  beverage  of  polite  society.  As  yet 
however  it  nas  only  to  be  seen  upon  the  tables  of  the 
refined  and  tiie  affluent. 

A  fine  ser  -ice  of  porcelain  of  Chinese  make,  adorned 
her  tablcj  pltasing  the  fancy  with  its  grotesque  pictures, 
then  so  new  now  so  familiar  to  us  all.  'I'he  Chinese 
garden  and  summer  house,  the  fruit-laden  trees,  and  river 
^vith  o\erhan<rinir  willows.  The  rustic  bridiie  with  the 
three  long-robed  figures  passing  o\-er  it  ;  the  boat,  floating 
upon  the  water  raid  the  doves  flying  in  the  perspectiveless 
sky  ;  who  doe  .  not  remember  them  all  ? 

Lady  de  Tilly,  like  a  true  gentlewoman,  prized  her 
china,  and  thought  kindly  of  the  mild,  industrious  race, 
who  had  furnished  her  tea-table  with  such  an  elegant 
equipage. 

It  was  no  disparagement  to  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  that  she 
had  not  read  English  poets,  who  sang  the  j^raise  of  tea. 
English  j)oets  were  in  those  days  ■^.\^  unknown  ([uantity  in 
French  education,  and  especially  in  New  j""rance,  until  after 
the  conquest.  But  Wolfe  opened  the  great  world  of  h'nglish 
poetry  to  Canada  as  he  recited  Gray's  Elegy  with  its  pro- 
phetic line—- 


i 

1! 


268 


T//B  CITIEX  D'OR. 
"  The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave." 


AS  he  floated  down  the  St.  Lawrence,  in  that  still  autum- 
nal ni^ht,  to  land  liis  forces  and  scale  by  stealth  the  fatal 
heii;lUs  of  Abraham,  whose  possession  led  to  the  conquest 
of  the  city  and  his  own  heroic  death,  then  it  was  the  two 
glorious  streanis  of  modern  thought  and  literature  united 
in  New  France,  where  they  have  run  side  by  side  to  this 
day — in  time  to  be  united  in  one  grand  flood  stream  of 
Canadian  literature. 

The  JJourgeois  Philibert  had  exported  largely  to  China 
the  newly  discovered  ginseng,  for  which  at  first  the  people 
of  the  flowery  kingdom  paid,  in  their  syce  silver,  ounce  for 
ounce.  And  his  Cantonese  correspondent  esteemed  him- 
self tloiibly  fortunate  when  he  was  enabled  to  export  his 
choicest  teas  to  New  France  in  exchange  for  the  precious 
root. 

Amt'lie  listened  to  an  eager  conversation  between  the 
Governor  and  Ilerr  Kalm,  started  by  the  latter,  on  the 
nature,  cuUiu-e  and  use  of  the  tea  jjlant  (they  would  be  trite 
opinions  now),  with  many  daring  speculations  on  the  ulti- 
mate conquest  of  the  tea  cup  over  the  wine  cup.  "  It 
would  inaugurate  the  third  beatitude!"  exclaimed  ihe  phi- 
losopher, pressing  together  the  tips  of  the  fingers  of  both 
hands,  ''and  the  'meek  would  inherit  the  earth;'"  so  soon 
as  the  use  of  tea,  became  universal — mankind  would  grow 
milder  as  their  blood  was  purified  from  the  fiery  products 
of  the  still  and  the  wine  press  !  The  life  of  man  would  be 
proiDiiged  and  made  more  valuable. 

"■  What  has  given  China  four  thousand  of  years  of  exist- 
ence ?  " — asked  Flerr  Kalm,  al)ruptly,  of  the  Count. 

The  Count  "  could  not  tell,  uidess  it  were  that  the 
nation  was  dead  already  in  all  that  regarded  the  higher 
life  of  national  existence — had  become  niunnnified  in  fact 
— and  did  not  know  it." 

*'  Not  at  ail !  "  replied  Herr  Kalm — "  It  is  the  constant 
use  of  the  life-giving  infusicui  of  tea,  that  has  saved  China ! 
Tea  soothes  the  nerves,  it  clears  the  blood,  expels  vapors 
from  the  brain,  and  restores  the  fountain  of  life  to  pristine 
activity.  Jii'^^^U  it  i)rolongs  the  existence  of  both  men 
and  nations,  and  has  made  China  the  most  antique  nation 
in  the  world."' 

Herr  Kalm  was  a  devotee  to  the  tea  cup,  he  drank  it 


''BETWEEN  THE  LATEST  VIOLET,  &'C." 


269 


Strong  to  excite  his  flagging  spirits,  weak  to  quiet  them 
clown.  He  took  Bohea  with  liis  facts,  and  Hyson  with  his 
fancv,  and  mixed  llieni  to  secure  the  necessary  afflatus  to 
write  Ills  books  of  science  and  travel.  Hjkju  Hyson  he 
would  have  attempted  the  Iliad,  upon  iJohea  he  would 
undertake  to  square  the  circle,  discover  perpetual  motion, 
or  reform  the  German  philos(»phy. 

The  professor  was  in  a  jovial  mood,  and  gambolled 
away  gracefully  as  a  Fiifland  horse  under  a  pack  sadtUe 
laden  with  the  learning  of  a  dozen  students  of  Abo,  travel- 
ling home  f(jr  the  holidays  ! 

"  We  are  fortunate  in  being  able  to  procure  our  tea,  in 
exchange  for  our  useless  ginseng."  remarked  the  Lady  de 
Tilly,  as  she  handed  the  professor  a  tiny  plate  of  the 
leaves,  as  was  the  fashion  of  the  day.  After  drinking  the 
tea,  the  infused  leaves  were  regarded  as  quite  a  fashionable 
delicacy.  Except  for  the  fashion,  it  had  not  been  perhaps 
considered  a  delicacv,  at  all. 

The  observation  of  the  Lady  de  Tillv  set  the  ])rofcssor 
ofT  on  another  branch  of  the  subject.  "  He  had  observed," 
he  said,  "  the  careless  methods  of  preparing  the  ginseng  in 
New  France,  and.  predicted  a  speedy  end  of  the  tiatitic, 
unless  it  were  preparetl  to  suit  the  fancy  of  the  fastidious 
Chinese. 

"  That  is  true,  Herr  Kalm,  "  replied  the  Governor, 
"  but  our  Indians  who  gather  it  are  bad  managers.  Our 
friend  I'hilibcrt,  who  o])ened  this  lucrative  trade  is  alone 
capable  of  ensuring  its  continuance.  It  is  a  mine  of  wealth 
to  New  France  if  rightly  developed.  '*How  nuich  made 
you  last  year  by  ginseng,  Philibert .''  " 

"  I  can  scarcely  answer,"  replied  the  Bourgeois,  hesita- 
tins:  a  moment  to  mention  what  nii'dit  seem  like  egotism. 
"  But  the  half  million  I  contributed  towards  the  war  in 
defence  of  Acadia  was  wholly  the  product  of  my  export 
of  ginseng  to  Criiina." 

"  1  know^  it  was  !  and  God  bless  you  for  it,  Philibert !  " 
exclaimed  the  Governor  with  emotion,  as  he  grasped  the 
hand  of  the  patriotic  merchant. 

"If  we  have  preserved  New  France  this  year,  it  was 
through  your  timely  help  in  Acadia  !  The  king's  treasury 
was  exhaustetl,"  continued  the  Governor,  looking  at  Herr 
Kalm,  ''and  ruin  imminent,  when  the  noble  merchant  of 
the  Chien  d'Or,  fed,  clothed   and  paid  the   King's  troops 


270 


THE  C ////■: iV  D'OR. 


I  'V. 


for  two  montlis  before  the  taking  of  Grand  Pre  from  the 
enemy  !  " 

*'  No  sreat  thinjjj  in  that,  }our  Excellency,"  replied  the 
Boin<;eois,  who  hated  compliments  to  himself.  '"If  those 
who  have  do  not  give,  how  can  you  get  from  those  who 
have  not  ?  Vou  may  lay  some  of  it  to  the  account  of 
Pierre  too.  He  was  in  Acadia,  you,  know,  Governor.'' — A 
flash  of  honest  pride  passed  over  the  usually  sedate  features 
of  the  IJourgeois  at  the  mention  of  his  son, 

Le  Gardcur  looked  at  his  sister.  Siie  knew  instinc- 
tively, that  his  thoughts  put  into  words  would  say, — ''  he  is 
worthy  to  be  your  father,  Amelie  !  "  She  blushed  with  a 
secret  pleasure,  but  spoke  not.  The  music  in  her  heart  was 
without  words,  yet  ;  but  one  day  it  would  (111  the  universe 
with  harmonv  for  her. 

The  (Governor  noticed  the  sudden  reticence,  and  half 
surmising  the  cause,  remarked  playfully.  ''The  Iroquois 
will  hardly  dare  api)roach  'I'illy  with  such  a  garrison  as 
Pierre  Philibert  and  Le  Gardeur,  and  with  you,  my  Lady 
de  Tilly,  as  commandant,  and  you,  ]\Lidemoiselle  Ame'lie, 
as  Aide  de  Camp  !  " 

"  To  be  sure  !  your  Excellency  !  "  replied  the  Lady  de 
Tilly.  "  The  women  of  Tilly  have  worn  swords  and  kept 
the  old  house  l)efore  now  !  "  she  added  playfully,  alkuling 
to  a  celebrated  defence  of  the  chateau  by  a  former  lady  of 
the  manor  at  the  head  of  a  body  of  her  censitaires.  "  And 
depend  upon  it  we  shall  neither  give  up  'i'illy  nor  T^e  Gar- 
deur either,  to  whatever  savages  claim  him,  be  they  red 
or  white  !  " 

The  Lady's  allusion  to  his  late  associates  did  not  offend 
Le  Gardeur,  whose  honest  nature  despised  their  conduct, 
Wiiile  he  liked  their  company.  They  all  understood  her 
and  laughed.  The  Governor's  loyalty  to  the  King's  com- 
mission, prevented  his  speaking  his  thoughts.  He  only 
remarked  '' Le  Gardeur  and  Pierre  Philibert  will  be  under 
your  orders,  my  Lady,  and  my  orders  are  that  they  are  not 
to  return  to  the  city,  until  all  dangers  of  the  Iroquois  are 
over  !  " 

"All  right  !  your  Excellency  !  "  exclaimed  Le  Gardeur. 
"  I  shall  obey  my  aunt.''  He  was  acute  enough  to  see 
through  their  kindly  scheming  for  his  welfare.  Put  his 
good  nature  and  thorough  devotion  to  his  aunt  and  sister, 
and  his  alTcctionate  friendship  for  Pierre,  made   him  yield 


''BETWEEN  THE  LATEST  VIOLET  ^cr 


271 


(   i 


to  the  project  without  a  qualm  of  rci^ict.  Lc  Gardeur  was 
assaihihlc  on  many  sitles,  a  fault  in  his  character  or  a 
weakness,  which  at  anv  rate  sometimes  ofTered  a  lever  to 
move  him  in  directions  opposite  to  the  malign  influences 
of  J)i_;i;ol  and  his  associates. 

Tile  company  rose  from  the  tea  table,  and  moved  to 
the  drawing  room,  where  conversation,  music,  and  a  few 
games  of  cards,  wiled  away  a  couple  of  hours,  very  pleas- 
antlv. 

Amelie  sang  exquisitely.  The  Governor  was  an  excel- 
lent musician  and  accompanied  her.  His  voice,  a  powerful 
tenor,  had  been  strengthened  by  many  a  conflict  with  old 
Boreas  on  the  high  seas,  and  made  soft  and  llexible  by  his 
manifold  sympathies  with  all  that  is  kindly  and  good  and 
true  in  human  nature. 

A  song  of  wonderful  pathos  and  beauty  had  just  been 
brought  down  from  the  wilds  of  the  Ottawa,  jnd  becoine 
universally  sung  in  New  l''rance.  A  voyageur  (lying  from 
a  band  of  Iroquois,  had  found  a  hiding  place  on  a  rocky 
islet  in  the  middle  of  the  Sept  C/iutcs.  He  concealed  him- 
self from  his  foes,  but  could  not  escape,  and  in  the  end 
died  of  starvation  and  sleeplessness.  T!ie  dying  maTi 
peeled  off  the  white  bark  of  the  birch,  and  with  the  juice  of 
berries,  wrote  upon  it  his  death  song,  which  was  found 
long  after  by  the  side  of  his  remains.  His  grave  is  now  a 
marked  spot  on  the  Ottawa.  La  complaiiitc  dc  Cadieiix\\x(S. 
seized  the  imagination  of  iVmelie.  She  sang  it  exquisitely, 
and  to  night  needed  no  pressing  to  do  so,  for  her  heart 
was  full  of  the  new  song,  composed  under  such  cir':um- 
stances  of  woe.  Intense  was  the  sympathy  of  the  company, 
as  she  began. 

"  Petit  Rochcr  dc  la  Haute  Montague, 
Je  viens  finir  iei  cctte  campagne  ! 
Ah  !  doiix  echos  entendez  mcs  soupirs  ! 
En  languissant  je  vais  bientol — niDiirir." 

There  were  no  dry  eyes  as  she  concluded.  The  last 
sighs  of  Cadieux  seemed  to  expire  on  her  lips : 

Rossignolct  va  dire  a  nia  inaitrcssc, 
A  mes  enfans,  qu'un  adieu  je  Icurs  Irisse, 
Que  j'ai  garde  nion  amour  et  nia  foi, 
Et  desormais  faut  rcnoncer  a  nioi." 

A  few  more  friends  of  the  family  drojipcd  in.  Coulon 
de  Villiers,  Claude  Beauharnois,   La  Corne  St.   Luc,  and 


n 


'si 


H?'!" 


272 


r//j^  ciiJEN  lyoR. 


others,  who  liad  heard  oi  ilie  lady's  departure,  and  came 
to  bid  her  adieu. 


La  Corne  raised   much  n.irth   hv   his   allusions   to  the 


I 


roquois. 


Th 


le  secret  was  liianlv  no   secret    to   Inm. 


I 


hope  to  f];et  their  scalps,"  said  he,  "  when  you  have  done 
^yith  them  and  they  wiiii  you,  Le  Gardeur !  " 

The  eveninp^  passed  on  ])ieasantly,  and  the  clock  of  the 
Recollets  j)eale(l  out  a  ijjood  late  hour  before  they  took  final 
leave  of  their  hosi)ilable  hostess,  with  nuitual  good  wishes 
and  adieus  which  with  some  of  them  were  never  repeated. 
Le  (lardeur  was  no  little  touched  and  comforted  by  so 
much  symjiathy  and  kindness,  lie  shook  the  I'ourgeois 
affectionately  by  the  hand,  inviting,;;  him  to  come  up  to 
'J'illy.  It  was  noticed  and  remendjered  that  this  evening,  Le 
Gardeur  clung  filially  as  it  were,  to  the  father  of  Pierre,  and 
the  farewell  he  gave  him,  was  tender,  almost  solemn,  in  a 
sort  of  satlness,  that  left  an  impress  ujion  all  minds. 
"Tell  Pierre!  but  indeed  he  knows  we  start  early  !"  said 
Le  Gardeur,  *'  and  the  canoes  will  be  waiting  on  the  Bat- 
ture,  an  hour  after  sunrise." 

The  Pdurgeois  knew  in  a  general  way  the  position  of 
JL,e  Gardeur,  and  sympathized  deeply  with  him.  "  Keep 
your  heart  up,  my  boy  !  "  said  he  on  leaving.  "  Remember 
the  proverb,  never  forget  it  for  a  moment,  Le  (iardeur  I 
Cc  que  Dicu  g(V(/i'  c'st  bioi  ;^ardc  ! 

"  (iotxl  bye,  Sieur  Philil)ert!  "  replied  he,  still  holding 
him  by  the  hand.  "  I  would  fain  be  permitted  to  regard 
you  as  a  father,  since  Pierre  is  all  of  a  brother  to  me  !  " 

"  I  will  be  a  father  and  a  loving  one  too,  if  you  will 
permit  me,  Le  (rardeur,"  said  the  Jjourgeois,  touched  by 
the  api)eal.  "  When  you  return  to  the  city,  come  home 
with  Pierre.  At  the  Golden  Dog  as  well  as  at  Kelmont, 
there  will  be  ever  welcome  for  Pierre's  friend  as  for 
Pierre's  self."     The  guests  took  their  departure. 

The  preparations  for  the  journey  home,  were  all  made, 
and  the  household  retired  to  rest,  all  glad  to  return  to 
Tilly.  Even  Eelix  Baudoin  felt  like  a  boy  going  back  on 
a  holiday.  His  mind  was  surcharged  with  the  endless 
things  ho  had  gathered  up  ready  to  pour  into  the  sympa- 
thizing ear  of  Parbara  Sansehagrin,  and  the  servants  and 
censitaires  were  equally  eager  to  return  to  relate  their 
adventures  in  the  capital  when  summoned  on  the  King's 
corvee  to  build  the  walls  of  Quebec. 


THE  CANADIAN  BOA  T  SONG. 


273 


CIIAPTKR     XXVII. 

THE  CANADIAN    BOAT   SONG. 

V'Ux  riion  vent  ! 
Via  I'joli  vent  I 
\"1.\  rijun  vent  ! 
M.I  inio  \Vi  ajipclle  I 
Via  I'lioii  vent  I 
Via  rjoli    vcMit! 
Via  I'bon  vent  ! 
Ma  niie  ni'  attend  I 


la 


The  gay  chorus  of  the  voyac^curs  made  the  shores  ring 
as  they  kept  time  with  their  oars  while  the  silver  spray 
dripped  like  a  shower  of  diamonds  in  the  bright  sunshine 
at  every  stroke  of  their  rapid  paddles.  'Fhe  graceful 
bark  canoes,  things  of  beauty  auvl  almost  of  life,  leaped 
joyously  over  the  blue  waters  of  the  St,  Lawrence  as  tiu-y 
bore  the  family  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  Pierre  Philibert 
with  a  train  of  censitaires  back  to  the  old  Manor  House.   • 

The  broad  river  was  Hooded  with  sunshine  as  it  rolled 
majestically  between  the  high  banks  crowned  with  green 
fields  and  woods  in  full  leaf  of  summer.  Frecjuent  cottages 
and  villages  were  visible  along  the  shores,  and  now  and 
then  a  little  church  with  its  bright  spire  or  belfry  marked 
the  successive  parishes  on  either  hand  as  the  voyagers 
passed  on  through  the  glorious  panorama  of  a  scene  unsur- 
passed for  beauty  in  the  New  World. 

The  tide  had  already  forced  its  way  two  hundred  leagues 
up  from  the  ocean  and  still  pressed  irresistibly  onward 
surging  and  wrestling  against  the  weight  of  the  descending 
stream. 

The  wind,  too,  was  favorable.  A  number  of  yachts 
and  bateaux  spread  their  snowy  sails  to  ascend  the  river 
with  the  tide.  They  were  for  the  most  part  laden  with 
munitions  of  war  for  the  Richelieu  on  their  way  to  ihe 
military  posts  on  Lake  Champlain,  or  merchandize  for 
Montreal  to  be  reladen  in  fleets  of  canoes  for  the  trading 
posts  up  the  river  of  the  Ottawas,  the  great  Lakes,  or  may- 
hap to  supply  the  new  and  far  off  settlements  on  the 
Belle  Riviere  and  the  Illinois. 

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274 


r/ZA  CIIIEN'  D'OR. 


\\.\- 


The  line  of  canoes  swept  past  the  saih'njr  vessels  with 
a  cheer.  The  h'ght  hearted  crews  excliani^ed  sahitations 
and  bandied  jests  with  each  other,  hiu^hing  immoderately 
at  the  well  worn  jokes  current  upon  tiie  river  among  the 
rough  voyageurs.  A  good  voyage !  a  clear  run  !  short 
portages  and  long  rests  !  some  enquired  whether  their 
friends  had  paid  for  the  bear  and  buffalo  skins  they  were 
going  to  buy,  or  they  compi'mented  each  other  on  their 
nice  heads  of  hair  which  it  was  hoped  they  would  not 
leave  behind  as  keepsakes  with  the  Iroquois  s([uaws. 

The  boat  songs  of  the  Canadian  voyagcurs  are  unique 
in  charTicler  and  very  pleasing  when  sung  by  a  crew  of 
broad  chested  fellows  dashing  their  light  birch  bark  canoes 
over  the  waters  rough  or  smooth,  taking  them,  as  they  take 
fortune,  cheerfullv.  Sometimes  skimming  like  wild  geese 
over  the  long. placid  reaches,  sometimes  bounding  like 
stags  down  the  rough  rapids  and  foaming  saults.  As 
might  be  inferred,  the  songs  of  the  voyageurs  differ  widely 
from  the  sweet  little  Ivrics  sung  in  soft  falsettoes  to  the 
tinkling  of  a  piano  f(jrte  in  fashionable  drawing  rooms,  and 
called  "  Canadian  boat  songs." 

The  Canadian  boat  song  is  always  some  old  ballad  of 
Norman  or  l>reton  origin,  jiure  in  thought  and  chaste  in 
expression,  washicd  clean  of  all  French  looseness  in  its 
adaptation  to  the  primitive  manners  of  the  Colony  that 
was  founded,  as  expressed  in  the  commission  given  to  its 
discoverer,  Jacques  Cartier,  "for  the  increase  of  God's 
Glory  and  the  honor  of  his  reverend  name." 

The  boat  song  is  usually  composed  of  short  stanzas. 
The  closing  line  of  each  couplet  or  quatraine  repeating 
itself  in  the  beginning  of  the  next  following  verse  and  end- 
ing with  a  stirring  chorus  that  gathers  up  as  into  a  Leyden 
jar,  the  life  and  electricity  of  the  song,  discharging  it  in  a 
flash  and  peal  of  rliytiimic  thunder,  every  voice  joining  in 
the  refrain  while  the  clastic  paddles  dip  with  renewed 
energy  into  the  water  making  the  canoe  springlike  a  flying 
fish  over  the  surface  of  lake  or  river. 

Master  Jean  La  Marche,  clean  as  a  new  pin  and  in  his 
merriest  mood,  sat  erect  as  the  king  of  Yvetot  in  the  bow 
of  the  long  canoe,  which  held  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  her 
family.  His  soiiorous  \iolin  was  coquettishly  fixed  in  its 
place  of  honor  under  his  wagging  chin,  as  it  accompanied 
Ixis  voice,  while  he  chanted  an  old  boat  song  which  had 


f 


( 


THE  CANADIAN  BOA  T  SONG. 


275 


ligjhtcnecl  the  labor  of    many  a  weary  oar  on  lake  and 
river  from  the  St.  Lawrence  to  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

Anielie  sat  in  the  stern  of  the  canoe  laving  her  white 
hand  in  the  cool  stream,  which  rushed  ])ast  her.  She 
looked  proud  and  happy  to-day,  for  the  whole  world  of  her 
affections  was  j^alhercd  toj^ether  in  that  little  bark. 

She  felt  i^ratcful  for  the  bright  sun.  It  seemed  to 
have  dispelled  every  cloud  that  lately  shaded  her  thoughts, 
on  account  of  her  brother,  and  she  silently  blessed  the 
light  breeze  that  ])layed  with  her  hair  and  cooled  her 
cheek  which  she  felt  was  tinged  with  a  warm  glow  of  pleas- 
ure in  the  ]:>resence  of  Pierre  Philibert. 

She  spoke  little  and  almost  thanked  the  rough  voyageurs 
for  their  incessant  melodies,  which  made  conversaticii 
difficult  for  the  time,  and  thus  left  her  to  her  own  sweet 
silent  thoughts  which  seemed  almost  too  sacred  for  the 
profanation  of  words. 

An  occasional  look  or  a  sympathetic  smile  exchanged 
with  her  brother  and  her  aunt,  spoke  volumes  of  pure 
affection.  Once  or  twice  the  eyes  of  Pierre  Philibert  cap- 
tured a  glance  of  hers  which  might  not  have  been  intended 
for  him,  but  which  Anielie  suffered  him  to  intercept  and 
hide  away  among  the  secret  treasures  of  his  heart.  A 
glance  of  true  affection,  brief,  it  may  be,  as  a  Hash  of  light- 
niuii,  becomes  when  cauLiht  bv  the  eves  of  love  a  rjal 
thing,  i'lxed  and  imperishable  forever.  A  tender  smiie,  a 
fond  word  of  love's  creation,  contains  a  universe  of  light 
and  life,  and  immortality.  Small  things  and  of  little  value 
to  others,  but  to  him  or  her  whom  they  ccuicern,  more 
precious  and  more  prized  than  the  treasures  of  Ind. 

Master  Jean  La  Marche  after  a  few  minutes  rest  made 
still  more  refreshing  by  a  draught  from  a  suspicious  look- 
ing flask,  which,  out  of  respect  for  the  presence  of  his 
mistress,  the  Ladv  de  Tillv,  he  said  contained  "milk," 
began  a  popular  boat  song  which  every  voyageur  in  New 
France  knew  as  well  as  his  prayers,  and  loved  to  his  very 
finger  ends. 

The  canoe-men  pricked  uji  their  cars,  like  troopers  at 
the  sound  of  a  bugle,  as  Jean  La  ALirche  began  the  famous 
old  ballad  of  the  king's  son,  who  with  his  silver  gun  aimed 
•  at  the  beautiful  black  duck,  and  shot  the  while  ouc,  out  of 
whose  eyes  came  gold  and  diamonds,  and  out  of  whose 
mouth  rained  silver,  while  its  pretty  feathers,  scattered  to 


Wf 


276 


THE  CIIIEN  UGR. 


the  four  wind     were  picked  up  by  three  fan*  dames,  who 
with  thcni  made  a  bed  both  hir<^e  and  deep — 

"  For  poor  wayfaring  men  to  sleep." 

Master  Jean's  voice  was  clear  and  resonant  as  a  church 
bell  newly  christened  ;  nnd  he  sanp^  the  old  boat-soni;  with 
an  ener<jv  that  drew  ilie  crews  of  half  a-dozen  other  canoes 
into  the  wake  of  his  music,  all  uniting  in  the  stirring 
chorus  : — 

"  Fringiie  !   P'ringue  sur  la  riviere  ! 
Fringue  !   Fringue  sur  I'aviron!  " 

A  few  stanzas  of  this  popular  boat-song,  as  it  was  sung 
by  Jean  La  Marche,  and  is  slill  chanted  to  the  oar  by  the 
voyageurs  of  the  North  and  Norlii-Wtst,  are  given  in  the 
original.  The  charming  simplicity  of  it  would  be  lost  in 
a  translation  into  another  tongue,  just  as  Josephte,  the 
pride  of  a  Canadian  village,  loses  her  natural  naivete  and 
grace  when  she  adopts  the  fashions  and  language  of  the 
Bourgeoisie  of  Quebec  and  Montreal. 


"  Dcrrierc  chez  nous 
Ya — t — un  e'tang, 

Fringuo  !   Fringue  sur  I'aviron  ! 
Trois  beaux  canards 
S"en  vont  baii;nant, 

Fringue  !  Fringue  sur  la  riviere  I 
'  Fringue  sur  Tuvironl 


Fringue 


Trois  beaux  canards 

S'en  vont  l)aignant  ! 

Fringue  !   Fringue  sur  Taviron  I 

Lc  fils  du  roi 

S'en  va  chassant. 

Fringue  !  Fringue  sur  la  riviere, 
Fringue  !  Fringue  sur  raviron  I 


Fe  fils  du  roi 
S'en  va  chassant. 

Fringue  !  Fringue  sur  Taviron. 
Avec  son  grand 
Fusil  il'argent. 

Fringue  !  Fringue  sur  la  riviere  ! 

Fringue  !  Fringue  sur  I'aviron ! 


\ 


" 


THE  CANADIAN  BOA  T  SONG.  277 

Avec  son  grand 

Fusil  d'argcnt 

Fringiie!  Fringue  sur  I'aviron  ! 

Visa  Ic  noir, 

Tua  le  hlanc. 

Fringue  !  Fringue  sur  la  rivi^re^ 
Fringue  !  Fringue  sur  I'aviron  ! 

Visa  le  noir, 
Tua  le  ))lanc. 

Fringue  !  Fringue  sur  I'aviron ! 
O  fils  du  Koi, 
Tu  es  nic'cliant. 

Fringue  I  Fringue,  sur  la  riviere  ! 

Fringue  1  Fringue  sur  I'aviron  ! 

And  so  on,  they  sans^  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour,  to 
the  end  of  the  pleasant  old  ditty.  Jean  La  Marche  sang 
the  first  and  second  lines  solo,  the  crew  joininj;  in  the  third. 
He  then  sang  the  fourth  and  tlfth.  when  the  chorus  at  the 
conclusion  was  repeated  by  the  whole  cn\\\\):\ny  for/e  fortissi- 
mo, the  paddles  moving  with  renewed  vigor,  and  keeping 
time  to  tiie  song. 

The  performance  of  Jean  La  Marche  was  highly  relished 
by  the  critical  boatmen,  and  drew  from  them  that  fiattering 
mark  of  approval,  so  welcome  to  a  vocalist — an  encore  of 
the  whole  lonir  ballad  from  beij^innins;  to  end. 

As  the  line  of  canoes  swept  up  the  stream,  a  welcome 
cheer  occasionally  greeted  them  from  the  shore,  or  a  voice 
on  land  joined  in  the  gay  refrain.  They  drew  nearer  to 
Tilly,  and  tlieir  voices  became  more  and  more  musical, 
their  gaiety  more  irrepressible,  for  they  were  going  home, 
and  home  to  the  Jiabitans,  as  well  as  to  their  Lady,  was  the 
world  of  all  delights. 

The  contagion  of  high  spirits  caught  even  Le  Gardcur, 
and  drew  him  out  of  himself,  making  him  for  the  time  for- 
get the  disappointments,  resentments  and  allurements  of 
the  city. 

SittiuiT  there  in  theirolden  sunshine,  the  blue  skv  above 
him,  lliebUie  waters  below, — friends  whom  he  loved  around 
him,  mirth  in  every  eye,  gayety  on  every  tongue, — how 
could  Le  Gardeur  but  smile,  as  the  music  of  the  boatmen 
brought  back  a  hundred  sweet  associations.  Nay,  he 
laughed,  and  to  the  inexpressible  delight  of  Amelie  and 
Pierre,  whowatchetl  every  change  in  his  demeanor,  uniied 
in  the  chorus  of  the  glorious  bout-song. 


278 


THE  CHTEN  D'OR. 


% 

^''m   ' 

1 

m 

A  few  hours  of  this  pleasant  voyaf;inL;^  ])rought  the  little 
fleet  of  canoes  under  the  hi;;h  hank  whieii  from  its  sunnnit 
slopes  away  in  a  wide  domain  of  forests,  park  and  culti- 
vated fields,  in  the  midst  of  which  stood  the  high-pointed 
and  many  gabled  m.inor-house  of  Tilly, 

Upon  a  promontory — as  if  placed  there  for  both  a  land 
and  sea  mark,  to  save  souls  as  well  as  bodies — rose  the 
belfry  of  the  chajn  i  of  St.  Michael,  overlooking  a  cluster 
of  white,  old-fashioned  cottages,  which  formed  the  village 
of  St.  Michael  de  Tilly. 

Upon  the  sandy  beach  a  crowd  of  women,  children  and 
old  men,  had  galheied,  who  were  cheering  and  clapping 
th.eir  hands  at  the  unexpected  return  of  the  Lady  of  the 
Manor,  with  all  their  friends  and  relatives. 

'l"he  fears  of  the  villagers  had  been  greatly  excited 
for  some  days  past,  by  exaggerated  reports  of  the  presence 
of  Iroquois  on  the  ui;)per  waters  of  the  Chauchere.  They 
not  unnaiurall}  conjectured,  moreover,  that  the  general 
call  for  men  on  the  king's  corv'vc,  to  fortify  the  city,  por- 
tended an  invasion  by  the  P^nglish,  who,  it  was  rumori^d, 
were  to  come  up  in  ships  from  below,  as  in  the  days  of  Sir 
William  I'hipps,  wiih  his  army  of  New  I"',nglander?,  the 
story  of  whose  defeat  under  the  walls  of  (^uel)ec  was  still 
freshly  remendDered  in  the  traditions  of  the  colony. 

"  Never  fear  them  !  ''  said  old  Louis,  the  one-eyed  pilot. 
"  It  was  in  my  father's  days.  Many  a  time  have  I 
heard  him  tell  the  story — how  in  the  autumn  of  the  good 
year  1690,  thirty-four  great  ships  of  the  IJostonians  came 
up  from  below,  and  larided  an  army  of  ventres  blciis  of  New 
England  on  the  flats  of  Jk-auport.  jlut  our  stout  Governor, 
Count  de  Lrontenac,  came  upon  them  from  the  woods  with 
his  brave  soldiers,  luibitans  and  Indians,  and  drove  them 
pell-mell  back  to  their  l)oats,  and  siri})jx(l  the  ship  of  Ad- 
miral I'hipps  of  his  red  flag,  which,  if  you  doubt  :ny  word — 
which  no  one  does — still  hangs  over  the  high  altar  of  the 
church  of  Notre  Dame  des  \'ictou'es  !  IJiessed  be  our 
Ladv,  who  saved  our  countrv  from  our  enemies, — and  will 
do  so  again,  if  we  do  not  by  our  wickedness  lose  her  favor  1 
Uut  the  arb/r  sec — the  dry  tree — still  stands  upon  the 
Point  de  Levis,  where  the  Post  on  fleet  took  refuge  before 
beatin":  their  retreat  down  the  river  again, — and  vou  know 
_^the  old  prophecy,  that  while  that  tree  stands,  the  English 
shall  never  prevail  against  Quebec  !  " 


.m 


THE  CA.VAD/AjY  BOAT  SONG. 


279 


Much  comforted  by  (his  speech  of  old  Louis  the  pilot, 
the  villagers  of  Tilly  rushed  to  the  bench  to  receive  their 
friends. 

The  canoes  came  dashin;;;  into  shore.  Men,  women 
and  children  ran  Unee-deep  into  the  water  to  meet  them, 
and  a  hundred  ea.<;er  hands  were  ready  to  seize  their  prows, 
and  dra,2j  them  hiij^h  and  dry  u]K)n  the  sandy  beach. 

"Homeafjain  I  and  welcome  to  Tillv,  Pierre  IMiilibert!  " 
exclaimed  Lady  de  'J'illy,  ofTerinjjj  her  hand.  '•  I'^riends 
like  you  have  the  rii^htof  welcome  here."  Pierre  expressed 
his  pleasure  in  tilling  terms,  and  lent  his  aid  to  the  noble 
Ladv  to  disembark. 

Le  Gardeur  assisted  Amelie  out  of  the  canoe.  As  he 
led  her  across  the  beach,  he  felt  her  hand  tremble  as  it 
rested  on  his  arm.  He  i^lanced  down  at  her  averted  face, 
and  saw  her  eyes  directed  to  a  spot  well  remembered  by 
himself, — the  scene  of  his  rescue  from  drowning  by  Pierre 
Philibert. 

'i'he  V  hole  scene  came  before  Amelie  at  this  moment. 
Her  vivid  recollection  conjured  up  the  sight  of  the  inani- 
mate body  of  her  brother  as  it  was  brought  ashore  by  the 
strong  arm  of  Pierre  Philibert,  and  laicl  upon  the  beach, 
—  -her  long  agony  of  suspense,  and  her  joy,  the  greatest 
she  had  ever  felt  before  or  since,  at  his  resuscitation  to  life. 
— and,  lastly,  her  passionate  vow  which  she  made  when, 
clasping  the  neck  of  his  preserver, — a  vow  which  she  had 
enshrined  as  a  holy  thing  in  her  heart  ever  since. 

At  that  moment  a  strange  fancy  seized  her,  that  Pierre 
Philibert  was  again  plunging  into  deep  water,  to  rescue  her 
brother,  and  that  she  would  be  called  on  l)y  some  mysteri- 
ous power  to  renew  her  vow  or  fulfd  it  to  the  very  letter. 

She  twitched  Le  (iardeur  gently  by  t!ie  arm  and  said 
to  him,  in  a  half  whisper:  "  It  was  there,  brother  !  do  you 
remember  ?  " 

"I  know  it,  sister!  "  rejilied  he  ;  "  I  was  also  thinking 
of  it.  I  am  grateful  to  Pierre,  yet,  oh  my  Amelie,  better 
he  had  left  me  at  the  bottom  of  th<.'  deep  river,  where  I 
had  found  my  bed  ;  I  have  no  pleasure  in  seeing  Tilly  any 
more ! " 

"  Why  not,  brother  ?  Are  we  not  all  the  same?  Are 
we  not  all  here  }  There  is  happiness  and  comfort  for  you 
at  Tilly." 

"  There  was  once,   Amelie,''   replied  he,  sadly,   '*  but 


,u. 


280 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


there  will  be  none  for  me  in  the  future,  as  I  feel  too  well.  I 
am  not  worthy  of  you,  Anielie." 

"  Come,  brother  !  "  replied  she,  cheerily,  "  you  dampen 
the  joy  of  our  arrival.  See,  tlie  fiag  is  ^oinji^  up  on  the 
staff  of  the  turret,  and  old  Martin  is  j^etting  ready  to  fire 
off  the  culverin  in  lK)nor  of  your  arrival." 

Presently  there  was  a  Hash,  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  the 
report  of  a  cannon  came  booming  down  to  the  shore  from 
the  Manor  House. 

"That  was  well  done  of  Martin  and  the  women  !  "  re- 
marked Felix  Hauiloin,  who  had  served  in  his  youth,  and 
therefore  knew  what  was  fitting  in  a  military  salute.  "  '  The 
women  of  Tilly  are  better  than  the  men  of  Beauce,'  says 
the  proverb." 

"  Aye,  or  of  Tilly  either  !  "  remarked  Josephte  Le  Tar- 
deur,  in  a  sharp,  snapping  tone.  Josephte  was  a  short, 
stout  \irago,  with  a  turned  up  nose  and  a  pair  of  black 
eyes  that  would  bore  you  through  like  an  auger.  vShe  wore 
a  wide-brimmed  hat  of  straw,  overtopping  curls  as  crisp  as 
her  temj^er.  Iler  short  linsey  petticoat  was  not  chary  of 
showing  her  substantial  ankles,  while  her  rolled  up  sleeves 
dis))layed  a  pair  of  arms  so  red  and  robust  that  a  Swiss 
milkmaid  might  well  have  envied  them. 

Her  remark  was  intended  for  the  ear  of  Jose  Le  Tar- 
deur,  her  husband,  a  lazy,  good-natured  fellow,  whose  eyes 
had  been  fairly  henpecked  out  of  his  head  all  the  days  of 
his  married  life.  "  Josephte's  speech  hit  him  without  hurt- 
ing him,"  as  he  remarked  to  a  neighbor,  "josephte  made 
a  target  of  him  every  day.  He  was  glad,  for  his  part,  that 
the  women  of  Tilly  were  better  soldiers  than  the  men,  and 
so  much  fonder  of  looking  after  things  I  It  saved  the  men 
a  deal  of  worry  and  a  good  deal  of  work." 

"  What  are  you  saying,  Jose  ?  "  exclaimed  Felix,  who 
onlv  caujiht  a  few  half  words. 

"I  say,  Master  Felix,  that  but  for  Mtre  Eve  there 
would  have  been  no  curse  upon  men,  to  make  them  labor 
when  they  do  not  want  to,  and  no  sin  either.  As  the 
Cure  says,  we  could  have  lain  on  the  grass',  sunning  our- 
selves all  day  long.  Now.  it  is  nothing  but  work  and  pray, 
never  play,  else  you  will  save  neither  body  nor  soul. 
Master  I'elix,  I  hope  you  will  remember  me  if  I  come  up 
to  the  Manor  House." 

"Aye,  I  will  remember  you,  Jose"  replied  Felix,  tartly  ; 


i 


THE  CANADIAN  BOAT  SONG. 


281 


"but  if  labor  was  llie  curse  which  Eve  brouj^ht  into  the 
world  \vhen  she  ate  the  apple,  [  am  sure  yoa  are  free  from 
it.  So  ride  up  with  the  carts,  Jose,  and  get  out  of  the  way 
of  niv  ladv's  carriajre  !  " 

Jose  obeyed  and,  taking  off  his  cap,  bowed  respectfully 
to  the  Lady  De  Tilly  as  she  passed,  leaning  on  the  arm  of 
Pierre  Philibcrt,  who  escorted  her  to  her  carriage. 

A  couple  of  sleek  (Canadian  horses,  surefooted  as  goats 
and  strong  as  little  elephants,  drew  the  coach  with  a  long, 
steady  trot  up  the  winding  road  which  led  to  the  Manor 
House. 

The  road,  unfenccd  and  bordered  with  grass  on  each 
side  of  the  track,  was  smooth  and  well  kejit,  as  became  the 
Grande  Chaussee  of  the  Paronv  of 'i'illv.  It  ran  sometimes 
through  stretches  of  cultivated  fields — green  pastures  or 
corn  lands  ripening  for  the  sickle  of  the  ccnaitairc.  Some- 
times it  passed  through  cool,  shad}-  woods,  full  of  primeval 
grandeur — part  of  the  great  Forest  of  Tilly,  wiiich  stretched 
away  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  over  the  hills  of  the  south 
shore.  Huge  oaks  that  might  have  stood  there  from  the 
bejrinning  of  the  world — wide-branchinir  elms  and  dark 
pines  overshadowed  the  highway,  opening  now  and  then 
into  vistas  of  green  fields  wher-  stood  a  cottage  or  two, 
with  a  herd  of  mottled  cows  grazing  down  by  the  brook. 
On  the  higher  ridges  the  trees  formed  a  close  phalanx,  and 
with  their  dark  tops  cut  the  horizon  into  a  long,  irregular 
line  of  forest,  as  if  offering  l)attle  to  the  woodman's  axe 
that  was  threatening  to  invade  their  solitudes. 

Half  an  hour's  driving  brought  the  company  to  the 
Manor  House,  a  stately  mansion,  gabled  and  pointed  like 
an  ancient  ciiateau  on  the  Seine. 

It  was  a  large  irregular  structure  of  hammered  stone, 
with  deeply  recessed  windows,  mullioned  and  ornamented 
with  grotesque  carvings.  A  turret,  loopholed  and  battle- 
mented,  projected  from  each  of  the  four  corners  of  the 
house,  enabling  its  inmates  to  enfilade  every  side  with  a 
raking  fire  of  musketry,  affording  an  adec[uate  defence 
against  Indian  foes.  A  stone  tablet  over  the  main  entrance 
of  the  Manor  House  was  carved  with  the  Armorial  bear- 
ings of  the  ancient  family  of  Tilly,  with  the  date  of  its 
erection,  and  a  pious  invocation,  placing  the  house  under 
the  special  protection  of  St.  Michael  de  Thury,  the  patron 
saint  of  the  House  of  Tilly, 


282 


THE  cniEN  noR. 


J;' 


W^'^ 


II 


IXi. 


The  Manor  House  of  Tilly  had  been  built  by  Charles 
Le  Gardeur  l)e  Tilly,  a  {j^entleman  of  Normandy,  one  of 
whose  ancestors,  the  Sire  I)e  Tilly,  fij^ures  on  the  roll  (jf 
Ihttle  Abl)ey,  as  a  follower  of  Duke  William,  at  IIastin<jjs. 
His  descendant,  Charles  Le  Gardeur,  came  over  to  C.uiada 
with  a  larjjje  body  of  his  vassals  in  1636,  iiaving  obtained 
from  the  King  a  grant  of  the  lands  of  Tilly,  on  the  bank 
of  the  St.  Lawrence,  "  to  hold  in  I''ief  and  Seigneury," — so 
ran  the  royal  patent — "with  the  right  and  jurisdic^tion  of 
superior,  moyenne  and  basse  justice,  and  of  hunting,  fish- 
ing and  trading  with  the  Lidians  throughout  the  whole  of 
this  royal  concession  ;  subject  to  the  condition  of  foi  d 
/iom>n<i,i!;(\  which  he  shall  be  held  to  perform  at  the  Castle 
of  St.  Louis,  in  Quebec,  of  which  he  shall  hold  under  the 
customary  duties  and  dues,  agreeably  to  the  coutiime  de 
Paris  followed  in  this  country." 

Such  was  the  style  of  the  Royal  grants  of  Seignioral 
riijhts  conceded  in  New  France,  bv  virtue  of  one  of  which 
this  gallant  Norman  gentleman  founded  his  settlement  and 
built  this  Manor  House  on  the  shores  (;f  the  St.  Lawrence. 

A  broad  smooth  carriage  road  led  up  to  the  mansion 
across  a  park  dotted  with  clumps  of  evergreens  and  decid- 
uous trees.  Here  and  there  an  ancient  patriarch  of  the 
forest  stood  alone,  souiC  old  oak  or  elm,  whose  goodly  pro- 
portions and  amplitude  of  shade  had  found  favor  in  the 
eyes  of  the  Seigneurs  of  Tilly,  and  saved  it  from  the  axe 
of  the  woodman, 

A  pretty  brook,  not  too  wide  i.o  be  crossed  over  by  a 
rustic  bridge,  meandered  through  the  domain,  peeping 
occasionallv  out  of  the  openinirs  in  the  woods  as  it  stole 
away  like  a  bashful  girl  from  the  eyes  of  her  admirer. 

'I'his  brook  was  the  outtlow  of  a  romantic  little  lake 
that  lav  hidden  awav  amons;  the  wooded  hills  that  bounded 
the  horizon,  an  irregular  sheet  of  water  a  league  in  circum- 
ference, dotted  with  islands  and  abounding  with  fish  and 
waterfowl,  that  hi.unted  its  quiet  pools.  That  primitive 
bit  of  nature  had  never  been  disturbed  by  axe  or  fire, 
and  was  a  favorite  spot  for  recreation  to  the  inmates  of  the 
Manor  House,  to  whom  it  was  accessible  either  by  boat 
up  the  liitle  stream,  or  by  a  pleasant  drive  through  the  old 
woods. 

As  the  carriages  drew  up  in  front  of  the  Manor  House, 
every  door,  window  and  gable  of  which  looked  like  an  old 


I' 


% 


I 


THE  CA.VAD/AiV  BOA  T  SOXG. 


^83 


I 


.V 


friend  In  the  eyes  of  Pie 'ic  IMiilihert,  a  body  of  female  ser- 
vants, tile  men  had  all  1  Jcn  away  at  the  city,  stood  ran<;ed 
in  tlicir  best  jjjf)\vns  .^nd  gayest  ribbons  to  welcome  home 
their  mistress  and  Mademoiselle  Amelie,  who  was  the  idol 
of  them  all. 

Great  was  their  delii;ht  to  see  ^^onsieur  I>e  Oardeur, 
as  they  usually  styled  their  youni:;  master,  with  another 
gentle  nan  in  military  costume,  whom  it  diil  not  take  two 
minutes  for  some  of  the  sharp-eyed  lasses  to  reco^jjnize  as 
Pierre  Philibert,  who  had  once  saved  the  life  of  LeCiartleur 
on  a  memorable  occasion,  and  who  now,  they  said  one  to 
another,  was  come  to  the  Manor  Hcnise  to — to — they 
whispered  what  it  was  to  each  other,  and  smiled  in  a  know- 
ing manner  ! 

Woiuen's  wits  fly  swiftly  to  conclusions,  and  ri2:ht  ones, 
too,  on  most  occasions.  The  lively  luaids  of  Tilly  told 
one  another  in  whispers  that  they  were  sure  Pierre  I'hili- 
bert  had  come  back  to  tiie  Manor  House  as  a  suitor  for 
the  hand  of  Mademoiselle  Amelie,  as  was  most  natural  he 
should  do,  so  handsome  and  manly  looking  as  he  was,  and 
Mademoiselle  alwa\s  liked  to  hear  any  of  them  mention 
his  name,  'i'he  maids  ran  out  the  wl  '\i  chain  of  logical 
sequences  before  cither  Pierre  or  Amelie  had  ventured  to 
draw  a  conclusion  of  any  kind  from  the  premises  of  this 
visit. 

Pehlnd  the  mansion,  overlooking  poultry-yards  and 
stables  wliich  were  well  hiddeii  from  view,  rose  a  higii  col- 
ombiere  or  pigeon-house  o^  stone,  the  possession  of  which 
was  one  of  the  rights  which  feudal  law  reserved  to  the  lord 
of  the  manor.  'Pliis  coloml)ierc  was  cajiable  of  containing 
a  large  army  of  pigeons,  but  the  regard  which  the  Lady  de 
Tilly  had  for  the  cornfields  of  her  censitaires,  caused  her 
to  thin  out  its  population  to  such  a  degree  that  there  re- 
mained only  a  few  favorite  birds  of  rare  breed  and  plumage, 
to  strut  and  coo  upon  the  roofs  and  ri\'al  the  i)eacocks  on 
the  terrace  with  their  bright  colors. 

In  front  of  the  mansion,  contrasting  oddlv  with  the 
living  trees  around  it,  stood  a  high  pole,  the  long  straight 
stem  of  a  pine  tree,  carefully  stripped  of  its  bark,  bearing 
on  its  top  the  withered  remains  of  a  bunch  f)f  evergreens, 
with  the  fragments  of  a  flag  and  ends  of  ribbon  which 
fluttered  gaily  from  it.  The  pole  was  marked  with  black 
spots  from  tha  discharge  of  guns  fired  at  it  by   the  joyous 


•■  L 


II 


I 


••'  ■■^^Ii    M 

11 

!i  :i 


284 


77//?  CHTEN  D'OR. 


hahitiins,  who  had  kept  the  ancient  custom  of  "May  day 
by  planting  this  May  pole  in  front  of  the  Manor  House  of 
their  hidy. 

The  plajitinpj  of  such  a  pole  was  in  New  France  a  special 
mark  of  respect  (hie  to  tiie  feuchd  sujierior,  and  custom 
as  well  as  |i()lileness  recpiin-d  that  it  should  not  be  taken 
down  until  the  recurrence  of  an(;ther  anniversary  of  Hora, 
which  in  New  I'Vance  souielinv.s  found  the  earth  white 
with  snow  and  hardened  with  frost,  instead  f)f  covered  with 
flowers  as  in  the  old  workl  whence  the  custo'ii  was  derived. 

The  Lady  dc  Tilly  duly  appreciated  this  comiiliment  of 
her  faithful  censitaires,  and  would  sooner  iiave  stripped 
her  park  of  half  its  live  trees  than  have  removed  that  dead 
jiole,  with  its  withered  crown,  from  the  place  of  honor  in 
front  of  her  mansion. 

The  revels  of  May  in  New  I'rancc,  the  king  and  queen 
of  St.  Philip,  the  rejoicings  of  a  frank,  loyal  peasantry — 
illiterate  in  hof)ks  but  not  unlearned  in  the  art  of  life — have 
wholly  disaj^pcared  before  the  levelling  spirit  of  the  nine- 
teenth century. 

The  celebration  of  the  day  of  St.  Philip  has  been  super- 
seded by  the  festival  of  St.  John  the  Paptist,  at  a  season 
of  the  year  when  green  leaves  and  olooming  flowers  give 
the  possibility  of  arches  and  garlands  in  honor  of  the  Can- 
adian summer. 

Felix  Peaudoin  with  a  WMve  of  his  hand  scattered  the 
bevy  of  maid  ser\ants  who  stood  chattering  as  they  gazed 
upon  the  new  arrivals. — The  experience  of  Felix  told  him 
that  everything  had  of  course  gone  wrong  during  his  ab- 
sence from  the  Manor  House,  and  tb.at  nothing  could  be 
fit  for  his  mistress'  reception  until  he  had  set  all  to  rights 
again  himself. 

The  worthy  Major  Domo  was  in  a  state  of  perspiration 
lest  he  should  not  get  into  the  house  before  his  mistress, 
and  don  hifi  livery  to  meet  her  at  the  door  with  his  white 
wand  and  everything  01  rei::;h\  just  as  if  nothing  had  in- 
terrui)ted  their  usual  course  of  housekeeping. 

The  Lady  De  Tilly  knew  the  weakness  of  her  faithful 
old  servitor,  and  although  she  smiled  to  herself  she  would 
not  hurt  his  feelings  by  entering  the  house  before  he  was 
ready  at  his  post  to  receive  her.  She  continued  walking 
about  the  lawn  conversing  with  Amt'lie,  Pierre  and  Le 
Gardeur,  until  she  saw  old  Felix  with  his  wand  and  livery 


THE  CANADIAN-  DOA  T  SONG. 


285 


I 


standin;^  at  llic  clijor,  when,  lakinj;  Pierre's  arm,  she  led  the 
way  into  the  house. 

The  foUliii<;  doors  were  open  and  l''elix  witii  his  wand 
walked  i)efore  his  Lady  and  her  companions  into  the  man- 
sion. 'I'hev  entered  witiiout  dehiy,  tor  the  day  had  been 
warm  and  the  ladies  were  weary  after  sitlinu;  several  hours 
in  a  canoe,  a  mode  of  travellin;^;  which  admits  of  very  Utile 
chanj^e  of  position  in  the  voyagers. 

The  interior  of  the  Manor  House  of  Tilly,  jM-esented 
the  appearance  of  an  old  French  chateau,  A  larL;e  hall 
with  antique  furniture  occupied  the  centre  of  the  house, 
used  occasionally  as  a  court  of  justice,  when  the  Seigjneur 
de  Tilly  exercised  his  judicial  oflice  for  tiie  trial  of  offen- 
ders, which  was  very  rarely,  thanks  to  the  j;oo(l  morals 
of  the  people,  or  held  a  Coitr  rienierc  of  his  vassals,  on 
affairs  of  the  seigneurie  for  apportionini^  the  corvecs  for 
road  makinj^  and  bridge  building,  and  not  the  least  impor- 
tant by  any  means  for  tlie  annual  feast  to  his  Censitaires, 
on  the  day  of  St.  Michael  de  Thury. 

From  this  hall,  passages  led  into  apartments  and  suites 
of  rooms  arranged  for  use,  comfort  and  hospitality.  The 
rooms  were  of  all  sizes,  panelled,  tapestried  and  furnished 
in  a  stvle  of  splendor  suited  to  the  wealth  and  (Mgnitv  of  the 
Seigneurs  of  'J'illy.  A  stair  of  oak, broad  enough  for  a  section 
of  grenadiers  to  march  up  it  abreast,  led  to  the  upper  cham- 
ers,  bedrooms  and  boudoirs,  v>hich  looked  out  of  old  mul- 
lioned  wnidows  upon  the  lawn  and  gardens  that  surrounded 
the  house,  affording  picturesque  glimpses  of  water,  hills 
and  forests  far  enough  off  for  contemplation  and  yet  near 
enough  to  be  accessible  by  a  short  ride  from  the   mansion. 

Pierre  Philibert  was  startled  at  the  strange  familiarity 
of  everything  he  saw.  The  passages  and  all  their  intricacies 
where  he,  Le  Gardeur  and  Anie'lie  had  hid  and  found  one 
another  with  cries  of  delight,  he  knew  where  thev  all  led 
to.  The  rooms  with  their  antique  and  stately  furniture, 
the  paintings  on  the  wall,  before  which  he  had  stood  and 
gazed,  wondering  if  the  woild  was  as  f.iir  as  those  land- 
scapes of  sunny  France  and  Italy,  and  why  the  men  and  wo- 
men of  the  house  of  Tilly,  whose  portraits  hung  upon  the 
walls,  looked  at  him  so  kindly  with  those  dark  eves  of  theirs, 
which  seemed  to  follow  him  everywhere,  and  he  imagined 
they  even  smiled  when  their  lips  were  illumined  by  a  ray 
of  sunshine.     Pierre  looked  at  them  again  with  a  strange 


if  I 
1 1 

IB' 9       i 

il  i 


1 


if  inl 


286 


T//£  CIIIEX  nOR. 


interest,    tlicy  were  like  the  faces  of  livinsj  friends    who 
welcomed  hiiii  back  to  Tilly  after  years  of  absence. 

Pierre  entered  a  well  remembered  apartment  which  he 
knew  to  be  the  favorite  siltinij  room  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly, 
He  walkefl  hastily  across  it  to  look  at  a  picture  upon  the 
wall  which  he  recoi^nized  again  with  a  flush  of  pleasure. 

It  was  the  portrait  of  Amelie  painted  by  himself  during 
liis  last  visit  to  Tilly.  'J'he  young  artist,  full  of  enthusiasm, 
had  jKit  his  whole  soul  into  the  work  until  he  was  himself 
.startled  at  the  vivid  likeness  which  almost  unconsciously 
flowed  from  his  pencil.  He  had  caught  the  divine  upward  ex- 
pression of  her  eyes,  as  she  turned  her  head  to  listen  to  him 
and  left  upon  the  canvas  the  very  smile  he  had  seen  upon 
her  lips.  Those  dark  eyes  of  hers  had  haunted  his  mem- 
ory for  ever  after.  To  his  imagination  that  picture  had  be- 
come almost  a  living  thing.  It  was  as  a  voice  of  his  own 
that  returned  to  his  ear  as  the  voic  ^i  Amelie.  In  the 
painting  of  that  ])ortrait  Pierre  had  the  first  revelation  of  a 
consciousness  of  his  deep  love  which  became  in  the  end  the 
master  passion  of  his  life. 

He  stood  i>ir  some  minutes  contemplating  this  portrait, 
so  different  from  her  in  age  now,  yet  so  like  in  look  and  ex- 
pression. He  turned  suddenly  and  saw  Amelie  ;  she  had 
silently  stepped  up  behind  him,  and  her  features  in  a  glow 
of  pleasure  took  on  the  very  look  of  the  picture. 

Pierre  started  ;  he  looked  again  and  saw  every  feature  of 
the  girl  of  twelve  looking  through  the  transparent  counte- 
nance of  the  perfect  woman  of  twenty.  It  was  a  moment 
of  blissful  revelation,  for  he  felt  an  assurance  at  that  mo- 
ment that  Amelie  was  the  same  to  him  now  as  in  their  days 
of  ycnithful  companionship.  "  How  like  it  is  to  you  yet, 
Amelie  !  "  said  he  :  "it  is  more  true  than  I  knew  how  to 
make  it  ! " 

"That  sounds  like  a  paradox,  Pierre  Philibert !  "  replied 
she  with  a  smile.  "  JJut  it  means,  I  suppose,  that  you  painted 
a  uni\ersal  portrait  of  me  which  will  be  like  through  all  my 
seven  ages.  Such  a  picture  might  be  true  of  the  soul, 
Pierre,  had  you  painted  that,  but  1  have  outgrown  the  pic- 
ture of  my  ]ierson." 

"  I  could  imagine  nothing  fairer  than  that  portrait  !  In 
soul  and  body  it  is  all  true,  Amelie." 

**  Flatterer  that  you  are  !  "  said  she,  laughing,  "I  could  al- 
most wish  that  portrait  would  walk  out  of  its  frame  to 


THE  CANADIAX  BOAT  SOXG.  287 

thank  you  for  the  care  you  bestowed  upon  its  fooh'sh  little 


orignia 


"  ?Iy  care  was  more  than  rewarded  !  I  find  in  that  pic- 
ture my  i)eau  ideal  of  the  beauty  of  life,  which  belonging 
to  the  soul  is  true  to  all  ag^cs." 

'•  The  irirl  of  twelve  would  have  thanked  vou  more  enthu- 
siastically  for  that  remark,  Pierre>  than  I  dare  do,"  replied 
she. 

"  The  thanks  are  due  from  me,  not  from  you,  AuK'lie!  I 
became  your  debtor  for  a  life  louij  obligation  wher 
without  genius  I  could  do  impossibilities.  Vou  taught 
me  that  paradox  when  you  let  me  paint  that  picture," 

Ameiie  glanced  quickly  up  at  him.  A  slight  color 
came  and  went  on  her  cheek.  "Would  that  I  could  do  im- 
possibilities, "  said  she,  "to  thank  you  sufficiently  for  your 
kindness  to  Le  Gardeur  and  all  of  us  for  coming  to  Tilly 
at  this  time." 

"  It  would  be  a  novelty,  almost  a  relief  to  put  Pierre 
Philibert  under  some  obligation  to  us,  for  all  we  owe  him  ; 
would  it  not,  Le  Gardeur  ?  "  continued  she,  clasping  the 
arm  of  her  brother  who  just  now  came  into  the  room. 
"  We  will  discharge  a  j^ortion  of  our  debt  to  Pierre  for 
this  welcome  visit  by  a  day  on  the  lake  !  we  will  make  up 
a  water  party  !  What  say  you,  brother?  the  gentlemen 
shall  light  fires,  the  ladies  shall  make  tea,  and  we  will  have 
guitars  and  songs,  and  maybe  a  dance,  brother  !  and  then 
a  glorious  return  home  by  moonlight !  What  say  you  to 
my  programme,  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  ?  What  say 
you,  Pierre  Philibert?  " 

Pierre  admired  the  sisterly  tact  of  Ameiie.  The 
projected  water-party  was  only  designed  for  the  purpose 
of  dissipating  the  cloud  of  cares  that  hung  over  the  mind 
of  her  brother,  yet  if  a  tinge  of  pleasure  at  the  pre^'ence  of 
Pierre  mingled  with  her  joy — it  was  natural  and  pardon- 
able. 

"  It  is  a  good  programme,  sister,  but  leave  me  out  of 
it.  I  shall  only  mar  the  pleasure  of  the  rest  ;  I  will  not 
go  to  the  lake.  I  have  been  trying  ever  since  my  return 
home  to  recognize  Tilly  ;  everything  looks  to  me  in  an 
eclipse,  and  nothing  bright  as  it  once  was,  not  even  yor, 
Ameiie.  "  Your  smile  has  a  curious  touch  of  sadness  in  it, 
which  does  not  escape  my  eyes,  accursed  as  they  have 
been  of  late,  seeing  things  they  ought  not  to  see,  yet  I  caa 


288 


THE  CIHEN  nOR. 


I 


I 
I  I 

■'■I 


!I  I 


see  that  and  I  know  it  too  ;   I  have  given  you  cause  to  be 
sad,  sister." 

"  Hush  brother  !  it  is  a  sin  against  your  dear  eyes  to 
speak  of  them  thus!  Tilly  is  as  bright  and  joyous  as  ever. 
As  for  my  smiles,  if  you  detect  in  them  one  trace  of  that 
sadness  you  talk  about,  I  shall  grow  as  melancholy  as 
yourself,  and  for  as  little  cause.  Come  !  you  shall  confess 
before  three  days,  brother,  if  you  will  only  hel[)  me  to  be- 
gay,  that  your  sister  has  the  lightest  heart  in  New  France." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII.    . 

CHEERFUL   YESTERDAYS  AND   CONFIDENT   TO-MORROWS. 

The  ladies  retired  to  their  several  rooms  and  after  a 
general  rearranging  of  toilets,  descended  to  the  great 
parlor,  where  they  were  joired  by  Messire  La  Lande,  the 
cure'  of  the  parish,  a  benevolent,  rosy  old  priest,  and 
several  ladies  from  the  neighborhood,  with  two  or  three 
old  gentlemen  of  a  military  air  and  manner,  retired  officers 
of  the  army , who  enjoyed  their  pensions,  and  kept  up  their 
-espectability  at  a  cheaper  rate  in  the  country  than  they 
could  do  in  the  city. 

Felix  Beaudoin  had  for  the  last  two  hours  kept  the 
cooks  in  hot  water.  He  was  now  superintending  the  lay- 
:n<r  of  the  table,  resolved  that  nolwithstandin^r  his  lonsf 
absence  from  home,  the  dinner  should  be  a  marvellous 
success. 

Ame'lie  was  very  beautiful  to-day.  Her  face  was  aglow 
with  pure  air  and  exercise,  and  she  felt  happy  in  the 
apparent  contentment  of  her  brother,  whom  she  met  with 
Pierre  on  the  broad  terrace  of  the  Manor  House. 

She  was  dressed  with  exquisite  neatness,  yet  plainly. 
An  antique  cross  of  gold  formed  her  only  adornment 
except  her  own  charms.  That  cross  she  had  ]uit  on  in 
honor  of  Pierre  Philibert.  He  recognized  it  with  delight 
as  a  birthdav  gift  to  Amelie  which  he  had  himself  given 
her  during  their  days  of  juvenile  companionship,  on  one 
of  his  holiday  visits  to  Tilly. 


I 


CHEERFUL   YESTERDAYS,  ETC. 


2S9 


en 
)ne 


f 


She  was  conscious  of  his  recop;nitioii  of  it.  It  broujjht 
a  flush  to  her  cheek  ;"  I'  is  i.i  honor  of  your  visit,  Pierre," 
said  siie  frankly, '■  that  I  wear  your  t:;i ft.  Old  friendship 
lasts  well  with  me,  does  it  not?  Hut  you  will  lind  more  old 
friends  than  me  at  Tilly  who  have  not  forgotten  you." 

"  I  am  already  richer  than  Croisus,  if  friendship  count 
as  riches,  Amelie.  The  hare  had  many  friends  hut  none 
at  last,  I  am  more  fortunate  in  possessing  one  friend  worth 
a  million." 

*'  Nay,  you  have  the  million  too,  if  j^ood  wishes  count 
in  your  favor,  Pierre,  you  are  richer — "  the  h'll  in  the 
turret  of  the  Chateau  began  to  ring  for  dinner,  drowning 
her  voice  somewhat. 

"Thanks  to  the  old  bell  for  cutting  short  the  com- 
pliment, Pierre,"  continued  she,  lauj;hing,  "you  don't  know 
what  vou  have  lost !  but  in  compensation  you  shall  be 
my  cavalier,  and  escort  me    to    the  dining-room." 

She  took  the  arm  of  Pierre  and  in  a  merry  mo  )  1  which 
brought  back  sweet  memories  of  the  past,  their  voices 
echoed  again  along  the  old  corridors  of  the  M  mor  House,  as 
they  proceeded  to  the  great  dining-room,  where  the  rest  of 
the  company  were  assembling. 

The  dinner  was  rather  a  stately  affair  owing  to  the 
determination  of  Felix  Heaudoin  to  do  especi  d  honor  to 
the  return  home  of  the  family.  flow  the  company  ate, 
talked,  and  drank  at  the  hospitable  table,  need  not  be 
recorded  here.  The  good  cure,  his  face,  under  the  joint 
influence  of  good  humor,  and  good  cheer,  was  full  as  a 
harvest  moon.  He  rose  at  last,  folded  his  h mds  a'ul 
slowly  rejjeated  '' ii;>j')nns  i:^rijtias."'  After  dinner  tlie 
company  withdrew  to  the  brilliantly  lighted  drawing-room, 
where  conversation,  music,  and  a  few  games  of  cards  for 
such  as  liked  them,  hlleil  up  a  couple  of  hoiws  longer. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  seated  beside  Pierre  Philibert,  on 
the  sofa,  conversed  with  him  in  a  pleasant  strain,  while  the 
cure',  with  a  couj^Ie  of  old  dowagers  in  turbans,  and  an  old 
veteran  officer  of  the  colonial  maiincj  long  stranded  on  a 
lee  shore,  formed  a  quartette  at  cards. 

These  were  steady  eiuhusiasts  of  whist  and  piquet, 
such  as  are  only  to  be  found  in  small  country  circles 
where  society  is  scarce,  and  amusements  few.  They  had 
met  as  partners  or  antagonists,  and  j)layed,  laughed  and 
wrangled  over  sixpenny  stakes,  and  odd  tricks  and  honoi's, 

19 


'E," 

h 


290 


THE  cfi:r:x  lyoR. 


s 


1 


'  111;    :■  * 


„^  i 


every  week  for  :i  quarter  of  a  century,  niul  would  willingly 
have  gone  on  playk..g  lill  the  day  of  judgment  without  a 
change  of  jiartners,  it  they  could  have  t lumped  death  and 
won  the  odd  trick  of  him. 

I'ierre  recollected  having  seen  these  same  old  friends 
seated  at  the  same  card  table,  during  his  earliest  visits  to 
the  Manor  House.  He  recalled  the  fact  to  the  Lady  de 
Tilly,  who  lauglied  and  said  :  "her  old  friends  had  lived  so 
long  in  the  ccMupany  of  the  Kings  and  (Jueens  that  formed 
the  paste-hoard  Court  of  the  kingdom  of  Cocagne,  tha't 
they  could  relish  no  meaner  amusement  than  one  which 
Royalty,  although  mad,  had  the  credit  of  introducing.' 

Amelie  devoted  herself  to  the  task  of  cheering  her 
somewhat  moody  brother.  She  .sat  beside  him,  resting  her 
hand  with  sisterly  affection  upon  his  shoulder,  while  in  a 
low,  sweet  voice  she  talked  to  him,  adroitly  touching  those 
topics  Old)'  which  she  knew  woke  pleasurable  associations 
in  his  mind.  Her  words  were  sweet  as  uKuma  and  full  of 
"womanly  tenderness  and  sympathy,  skilfully  wrapped  in  a 
strain  of  gayety  like  a  bridal  veil  which  covers  the  tears  of 
the  heart. 

Pierre  Philibert's  eyes  involuntarily  turned  towards  her, 
and  his  ears  caught  much  of  what  she  said.  He  was 
astonished  at  the  grace  and  perfection  of  her  language. 
It  seemed  to  him  like  a  strain  of  music  filled  with  every 
melody  of  earth  and  lieaven.  surjiassing  poets  in  beauty 
of  diction,  phi!(is()i)hers  in  truth,  and  in  purity  of  affection 
all  the  saints  and  sweetest  women  of  whom  he  had  ever 
read. 

Her  beauty,  her  vivacit}',  her  modest  reticences  and 
her  delicate  tact  in  addressing  the  cajnious  spiiit  of  Le 
Gardeur,  tilled  Pierre  with  admiration.  He  could  at  that 
moment  have  knelt  at  her  feet  and  worshipped  in  her  the 
realization  of  every  image  which  his  imagination  had  ever 
formed  of  a  perfect  woman. 

Now  and  then  she  played  on  the  harp  for  I,e  Gardeur 
the  airs  which  she  kn,evv  he  liked  best.  His  sombre  mood 
yielded  to  her  fond  exertions  and  she  had  the  reward  of 
drawing  at  last  a  smile  from  his  eyes  as  well  as  from  his 
lips.  The  last  she  knew  nu'giu  be  simulated,  the  former 
she  felt  was  real,  for  the  smile  of  the  eye  is  the  tiashof  the 
\o\  kindled  in  the  glad  heart. 

Le   Gardeur  was  not  dull  nor  ungrateful,  he  read  clearly 


CHEERFUL   YESTERDAYS,  ETC. 


>9i 


er 


of 


.r 


enouj^h  the  loving  purpose  of  his  sister.  Mis  brow  clcnred 
up  under  her  sunshine.  He  smiled,  he  hiughed  and 
Amelie  had  the  exquisite  joy  of  believinj^  she  liad  ojained 
a  victory  over  the  chirk  sj^ir-t  tiiat  had  taken  possession  of 
his  soul,  although  the  hollow  l;u  gh  struck  the  car  of  Pierre 
Philibcrt  with  a  more  uncertain  sound  than  that  which 
flattered  the  fond  hopes  of  Amelie. 

Ame'lie  looked  towards  Pierre  and  saw  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  her,  with  that  look  which  fills  every  WDUian  with 
an  emotion  almost  painful  in  its  excess  of  pleasure  when 
first  she  meets  it.  'I'hat  unmistakcable  glance  from  tiie 
eyes  of  a  man  who  she  is  proud  to  perceive  has  singled  her 
out  from  all  otiier  women  for  his  love  and  homage. 

Her  face  became  of  a  deep  glow  in  spite  of  her  efforts 
to  look  calm  and  cold  ;  she  feared  Pierre  might  have  mis- 
interpreted her  vivacity  of  speech  and  manner.  Sudden  dis- 
trust of  herself  came  over  her  in  his  presence.  The  flow 
of  her  conversation  was  embarrassed  and  almost  ceased. 

To  extricate  herself  from  her  momentarv  eonfusion 
which  she  was  very  conscious  had  not  escaped  i  le  obser- 
vation of  Pierre  (and  the  thought  of  that  confused  her  still 
more),  she  rose  and  went  to  the  harpsichord  to  recover  her 
composure  by  singing  a  sweet  song  of  her  own  conij^osition, 
written  in  the  soft  dialect  of  Provence,  the  La/i^u:Ji)L,  full 
of  the  sweet  sadness  of  a  tender,  im})assioned  love. 

Her  voice,  tremulous  in  its  power,  flowed  in  a  thous- 
and harmonies  on  the  enraptured  ears  of  her  listeners. 
Even  the  veteran  card  jilayers  left  a  game  of  whist  untin- 
ished  to  cluster  round  the  an:j:elic  singer. 

Pierre  Philibert  sat  like  one  in  a  trance.  He  loved  music 
and  understood  it  passing  well.  He  had  heard  all  the  rare 
voices  which  Paris  prided  itself  \x\  the  possession  of,  but 
he  thought  he  had  never  known  what  music  was  till  now. 
His  heart  throbbed  in  sympathy  with  every  inliection  of  the 
voice  of  Amt'lie  which  went  through  him  like  a  sweet  spell 
of  enchantment.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  disembodied  spirit 
singing  in  the  language  of  earth,  which  changed  at  last 
into  a  benediction  and  good  night  for  the  departing  guests, 
who  at  an  earlier  hour  th  ui  usual  out  of  consideration  for 
the  fatigue  of  their  hosts  took  their  leave  of  the  Manor 
House  and  its  hospitable  inmates. 

The  family,  as  families  will  do  upon  the  departure  of 
their  guests,  drew  up  in  a  narrower  circle  round  the  tire, 


Si 


i>  I' 

li 


if: 


hi- 


!■„■ 
}  ■■;, 


Mi>- 


■II 


!  J 


hi 


292 


7y//r  C///E.V  D'OR. 


that  blessed  circle  of  freedom  and  confidence  which  belongs 
only  to  hapi^y  households.  The  novelty  of  the  situation 
kept  up  the  interest  of  the  day  and  they  sat  and  conversed 
until  a  late  hour. 

Tiie  T,a(ly  de  'I'illy  reclined  comfortably  in  her  fauti'uil 
lookinij  with  ^oodnatured  complacency  upon  the  little  group 
beside  her.  Amelie  sitting  on  a  stool  reclined  her  head 
against  the  bosom  of  her  aunt  whose  arm  embraced  her 
closely  and  lovingly,  as  she  listened  with  absorbing  in- 
terest to  an  animated  conversation  between  her  aunt  and 
Pierre  Philibert. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  drew  Pierre  out  to  talk  of  his 
travels,  his  studies  and  his  military  career  of  which  he 
spoke  frankly  and  mochjstly.  His  high  principles  won  her 
admiration,  the  chivalry  and  loyalty  of  his  character  mingled 
with  the  humanity  of  the  true  soldier,  touched  a  chord  in 
her  own  heart,  stirring  within  r  the  sympathies  of  a  nature 
akin  to  his. 

The  presence  of  Pierre  Philibert  so  unfcjreseen  at  the 
old  Manor  House  seemed  to  .Vm('lie  the  work  of  Providence 
for  a  good  and  great  end,  the  reformation  of  her  brother. 
If  she  dared  to  think  of  herself  in  connection  with  him,  it 
was  with  fear  and  trembling,  as  a  saint  on  earth  receives  a 
beatific  vision  that  mav  onlv  be  realized  in  Heaven. 

Amelie  with  peculiar  tact  sought  to  entangle  Le  Gar- 
deur's  thoughts  in  an  elaborate  cobweb  of  occupations 
rivalling  that  of  Arachne,  which  she  had  woven  to  catch 
everv  leisure  hour  of  his,  so  as  to  leave  him  no  time  to 
brood  over  the  pleasures  of  the  Palais  of  the  Intendant  or 
the  charms  of  Angelique  des  Meloises. 

There  were  golden  threads  too,  in  the  network  in 
which  she  hoped  to  entangle  him.  Long  rides  to  the 
neighboring  seigneuries,  where  bright  eyes  and  laughing 
lips  were  ready  to  expel  every  shadow  of  care  from  the 
most  dejected  of  men,  much  more  from  a  handsome  gallant 
like  Le  Oardeur  de  Repentigny,  whose  presence  at  any  of 
these  old  manors  put  their  fair  inmates  at  once  in  holiday 
trim  and  in  holiday  humor.  There  were  shorter  walks 
through  the  park  and  domaine  of  Tilly,  where  she  intend- 
ed to  botanize  and  sketch,  and  even  fish  and  hunt  with  Le 
Gardeur  and  PIcmtc,  although  sooth  to  say  Amelie's  share 
in  hunting  would  only  be  to  ride  her  sure-footed  pony  and 
look  at  her  companions.     There  were  visits  to  friends  far 


'* 


CHEERFUL   YESTERDAYS.  ETC. 


293 


le 


ay 
ks 
d- 

re 
id 
ar 


and  near  '\wC\.  visits  in  return  to  the  Manor  TIousc.  and  a 
grand  excursion  of  all  to  the  lake  of  Tilly  in  boats.  i'hey 
would  colonize  its  little  island  Jor  a  day,  set  up  tents,  make 
a  Governor  and  Intendant,  perhaps  a  King  and  (^ueen,  and 
forget  the  world  till  their  return  home. 

'I'his  elaborate  scheme  secured  the  approbation  of  the 
Lady  de  filly,  who  had  in  truth  contril)utcd  part  of  it.  Le 
Gardeur  said  he  was  a  poor  lly  whom  they  were  resolved 
to  catch  and  pin  to  the  wall  of  a  C/iafrau  en  Iis/yii<^nc,h\ii 
he  woulfl  enter  the  web  wifliout  a  buzz  of  opposition  on 
condition  that  Pierre  would  join  him.  So  it  was  all 
settled. 

Amelie  did  not  venture  ajrain  that  niirht  to  encounter 
the  eyes  of  IMerre  Philibcrt,  she  needed  more  courage  than 
she  felt  just  now  to  do  that,  but  in  secret  she  blessed  him 
and  treasured  those  fond  looks  of  his  in  her  heart. never  to 
be  forgotten  anv  more.  Wiien  she  retired  to  iier  own 
chamber  and  was  alone  she  threw  herself  in  passionate 
abandonment  before  the  altar  in  her  little  oratory  which 
she  had  crowned  with  llowers,  to  mark  her  gladness.  She 
poured  out  her  pure  soul  in  invocations  of  blessings  upon 
Pierre  Philibert.and  upon  her  brother  and  all  the  house. 
The  golden  bead  of  her  rosarv  liniiered  lonjj  in  her  loving 
fingers  that  night  as  she  repeated  over  and  over  her  accus- 
tomed pravers  for  his  saft.-tv  and  welfare. 

'I'he  sun  rose  gloriously  next  morning  oven-  the  green 
woods  and  still  greener  meadows  of  Tillv.  The  atmosjjhere 
was  soft  and  pure,  ft  had  been  washed  clean  of  all  its 
impurities  by  a  few  showers  in  the  night.  Kvery  object 
seemed  nearer  and  clearer  to  tlie  eye,  while  the  delicious 
odors  of  fresh  flowers,  filled  the  whole  air  with  fragrance. 

The  trees,  rocks,  waters  and  green  slopes  stood  out 
with  marvellous  precision  of  outline,  as  if  cut  with  a  keen 
knife.  \o  fringe  of  haze  surrounded  them  as  in  a  drouth, or 
in  the  evening  when  the  air  is  filled  with  the  shimmering 
of  the  day  clust,  wiiich  follows  the  sun's  chariot  in  his 
course  round  the  world. 

Every  object,  great  and  small,  seemed  magnified  to 
welcome  Pierre  Philibcrt  who  was  up  betimes  this  morning 
and  out  in  the  pure  air  \iewing  the  old  familiar  scenes. 

With  what  delight  he  recognized  eacli  favorite  s^  ♦■. 
There  was  the  cluster  of  trees  which  crowned  a  prom- 
ontory overlooking  the    St.   Lawrence,  where    he   and  Le 


c 


294 


7y//r  (7//E.V  iroK. 


Ganlcur  had  stormed  Ihc  i;a;j;lc's  nest.  In  that  sweep  of 
forest,  the  deer  used  to  hrow/e  and  the  fawns  eoiich  in  the 
lonii;  ferns.  ITpon  yonder  breezy  hill  they  used  to  sit  and 
count  the  sails  turning;  alter'nati-ly  bii^ht  and  (hirk  as  the 
vessels  tacked  up  the  broad  river.  There  was  a  stretch  of 
green  lawn  still  green,  as  it  was  in  his  memory  ;  how  ever- 
lasting^ are  (lod's  colors  !  There  he  had  taught  Ainelie  to 
ride  and  holding  fast  ran  by  her  side  kc-q^ingpace  with  her 
flying  Indian  pony.  Mow  beautiful  and  fresh  tiie  picture 
of  her  remained  in  Iiis  inemorv  !  The  soft  white  dress  she 
wore,  her  black  hair  streaming  over  her  shoulders,  her  dark 
eves  flashing  deliL'hl,  her  nierrv  lauirh  rivailini;;  the  trill  of 
the  blackbird  wliiih  Hew  over  their  heads  chattering  for 
very  joy.  Before  him  lay  the  pretty  brook  with  its  rustic 
bridge  reflecling  itself  in  the  clear  water  as  in  a  mirror. 
That  path  along  the  bank  led  down  to  the  willows,  where 
the  big  mossy  stones  lay  in  the  stream  and  the  silvery 
salmon  and  speckled  trout  lay  fanning  the  water  gently 
with  their  fnis  as  they  contemplated  their  shadows  on  the 
smooth  sandy  bottom. 

Pierre  I'hilibcrt  sat  down  on  a  stone  by  the  side  of  the 
brook,  and  watched  the  shoals  of  minnows  move  al)out  in 
little  battalions,  wheeling  like  soldiers,  to  the  right  or  left, 
at  a  wave  of  the  hand.  IWii  his  thou'j;hts  were  runniiiij  in 
a  circle  of  ciueslions  and  enigmas  for  which  he  found 
neither  end  nor  answer. 

For  the  hundredth  time  Pierre  proposed  to  himself  the 
tormenting  enigma,  harder,  he  thought,  to  sol\e  than  any 
problem  of  mathematics — for  it  was  the  riddle  of  his  life — 
"What  thoughts  are  truly  in  the  heart  of  Amc'lie  de  Re- 
pentigny  respecting  me?  Does  she  recollect  me  only  as 
her  brother's  companion,  who  may  possibly  have  some 
claim  upon  her  friendship,  but  none  Uj)on  her  love?"  His 
imagination  pictured  every  look  she  had  given  him  since 
his  return.  Not  all  !  O!  Pierre  Philiberi.  !  The  looks 
you  would  have  given  worlds  to  catch,  you  were  uncon- 
scious of!  Every  word  she  had  spoken,  the  soft  inflection 
of  every  syllable  of  her  silvery  voice  lingered  in  his  ear. 
He  had  caught  meanings  where  perhaps  no  meaning  was, 
and  missed  the  key  to  others  which  he  knev/  were  there — 
never,  perhaps,  to  be  revealed  to  him.  But,  although  he 
questioned  in  the  name  of  love,  and  found  many  divine 
echoes   in   her  words,  imperceptible   to  every  ear  but  his 


^ 
'§ 


'% 


CHEERFUL   YESTERDAYS,  ETC. 


295 


IS 

le 


LS 


e 
e 


own,  he  could  not  wholly  solve  the  ricUllc  of  his  life.  Still 
he  hoped. 

"  If  love  creates  love,  as  some  say  it  does,"  thought  he, 
"  Anielie  de  Repentiy;ny  cannot  be  indilTereni  to  a  p;ission 
which  ;;()\erns  every  impulse  of  niybein^!  IJut  is  there 
any  esjjccial  merit  in  lovinjj;  her,  whom  all  the  world  can- 
not iielp  admirini;  equally  with  myself?  I  am  presumptu- 
ous to  think  so  ! — and  more  presum|)tuous  still  o  expect, 
after  so  many  years  of  separation  and  forj^etfulness,  that 
her  heart,  so  lovini;  and  so  sympallu'tic,  has  not  already 
bestowed  its  alTeclitJU  upon  some  one  more  fortunate  than 
me."' 

While  Pierre  tormented  himself  with  these  sharp  thorns 
of  doubt — and  of  hopes,  painful  as  doubts, — little  did  he 
think  what  a  brave,  lo\ini(  spirit  was  hid  uniler  the  silken 
vesture  of  Amelie  de  Repentij^ny,  and  how  hard  was  her 
strui;_i;"le  tt^  conceal  from  his  eyes  those  tender  reii;ards 
which,  with  over  delicacy,  she  accounted  censurable  be- 
cause thev  were  wholly  spontaneous. 

Hc'  little  thought  how  entirely  his  image  hid  filled  her 
heart  durinj;  those  years,  when  she  dreamed  of  him  in  the 
quiet  cloister,  livinj^  in  a  world  of  biij;!u  im vjjinini^-i  of  her 
own  ;  how  she  had  pra\ed  for  his  safety  and  w>-lf ire  as 
she  would  have  prayed  for  the  soul  of  oi^.e  dead — never 
thinkins^  or  even  hopinij  to  see  him  aj^ain. 

Pierre  had  become  to  her  as  one  of  the  disembodied 
saints  or  angels,  whose  pictures  looked  down  from  the 
wall  of  the  Convent  chapel — the  bright  angel  of  the 
Annuncialion  or  the  youthful  Baptist  proclaiming  the  way 
of  the  Ivord.  Xow.  that  Pierre  Philiberl  was  alive  in  the 
flesh, — a  man,  beautiful,  brave,  honorable,  and  worthy  of 
any  W('nKin's  love, — Anu'lie  was  frightened  !  She  had  not 
looked  for  that,  and  yet  it  had  come  uiK)n  her.  And, 
although  tremhling,  she  was  glad  and  proud  to  find  she 
had  been  remembered  I)\'  the  brave  youth,  wh.o  recognized 
in  the  perfect  woman  the  girl  he  had  so  ardently  loved 
as  a  boy. 

Did  he  love  her  still?  Woman's  heart  is  cjuicker  to 
apprehend  all  possibilities  than  man's.  She  had  caught  a 
look  once  or  twice  in  the  eyes  of  Pierre  Philibert  which 
thrilled  the  inmost  fibres  of  her  beiu'^  She  had  detected 
his  ardent  admiration.  Was  she  ol'fended  ?  ]''ar  from  it! 
And  allhou52,h  her  cheek  had   [lushed  deeply  red,  and  her 


I-Fl'f 


i''^^ 


396 


T///':  CI  HEX  lYOR. 


pulses  throbbed  harfl  at  tht-  sudden  consciousness  that 
Pierre  IMiilibtrf.  achnired,  nay,  more, — she  could  not  con- 
ceal it  from  iu'rstjf  ;  she  knew  that  ni<;ht— that  he  loved 
her  !  She  would  not  have  forijone  that  moment  of  revela- 
tion for  all  that  the  world  had  to  offer. 

She  would  <j;ladly  at  that  moment  of  discovery  have  fled  to 
her  own  apartment,  and  cried  for  jo\\  but  she  dare  not  ;  she 
trembled  lest  his  eyes,  if  she  looked  up.  should  discover  the 
secret  of  her  own.  She  had  an  o\erpowerin<^  conscious- 
ness that  sh(.'  stood  upon  the  brink  of  her  fate  :  that  ere  long 
that  look  of  his  would  be  followed  by  words — blessed, 
hojx'd  for  words  I — from  the  lips  of  Pit^rre  Philibert ; 
words  which  would  be  the  pled^^e  and  assurance  to  her  of 
that  love  which  was  hereafter  to  be  the  joy — it  mi<]jht  be, 
the  despair,  but  in  any  case,  the  all  in  all  of  her  life  for 
ever. 

Amt'lie  had  not  yet  realized  the  truth  that  love  is  the 
strenj^th.  not  the  weakness  of  woman  ;  and  that  the  bold- 
ness of  the  man  is  rank  cowardice  in  comparison  with  the 
bravery  she  is  capable  of,  and  the  sacrifices  she  will  make 
for  the  sake  of  the  man  who  has  won  lier  heart. 

(iod  h^cks  up  in  a  j^olden  casket  of  modesty  the  yearn- 
ings of  a  woman's  heart.  IJut  when  the  hand  in  which  he 
has  placed  the  key  that  opens  it  calls  forth  her  glorified 
affections,  they  come  out  like  the  strong  angels,  and  hold 
back  the  winds  that  blow  from  the  four  corners  of  the 
earth  that  they  may  not  hurt  the  man  whose  forehead  is 
sealed  with  the  kiss  of  her  acknowledjred  love. 


I 


»  ■ 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


A    DAY    AT    THE    MANOR    HOUSE. 


wu 


Amei.tr,  after  a  night  of  wakefulness  and  wrestling 
with  a  tumult  of  new  thoughts  and  emotions — no  lon- 
ger dreams,  but  realities  of  life — dressed  lierself  in  a 
light  morning  costume,  which,  simple  as  it  was,  bore  the 
touch  of  her  graceful  haixl  and  perfect  taste.  With  a  broad- 
brimmed  straw  hat  set  upoi?  her  dark  tresses,  which  wer? 


A  DAY  AT  TffE  MANOR  IfOrSF.. 


297 


re 


knotted  with  careless  care  in  a  blue  ribbon,  she  dcsrendecl 
the  steps  of  the  Manor  House.  'There  was  a  deej)  bloom 
upon  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  looked  like  fountains  of 
lij^ht  and  f^ladncss,  runniiiij^  over  to  bless  all  beholders. 

She  eiKiiiired  of  Felix  Meaudoin  of  her  brotiier.  The 
old  niajor-donio,  with  a  si<;nirie  int  look,  informed  her  tliat 
Monsieur  Le  (lardeur  had  just  ordered  his  hoise  to  ride 
to  the  village.  He  had  tust  called  for  a  decanter  of  cog- 
nac, and  when  it  was  brought  to  him  he  sudcL-nly  thrust 
it  back,  and  would  not  taste  it.  **  He  would  not  drink 
even  Jove's  nectar  in  the  Manor  House,"  he  said  ;  "but 
woulcl  <j;o  down  to  the  \illa<^e,  where  Satan  mixed  the  drink 
for  thirsty  souls  like  his  !  l*oor  Le  (lardeur  !  "  cf)ntinued 
Felix,  *' \ou  must  not  let  him  ^o  to  the  villa!4e  this  morn- 
ing, Matlemoiselle  !  " 

Amelie  was  startled  at  this  information.  She  hastened 
at  once  to  seek  her  brother,  whom  she  found  walking  im- 
patiently in  the  garden,  slashing  the  heads  ofT  the  lulips 
and  dahlias  within  reach  of  his  riding-whip.  He  was 
equi|jped  for  a  ride,  antl  waited  the  coming  of  the  groom 
with   his  horse. 

Amelie  ran  up  and  clasping  his  arm  with  both  hands  as 
she  looked  up  in  his  face  v.ith  a  smile,  exclaimed,  '*  Do  not 
go  to  the  \illage  yet,  Le  Gardeur  !      Wait  for  us." 

"  Not  go  to  the  village  yet,  AmcMie  ?  "  replied  he, 
"Why  not  ?  I  shall  return  for  breakfast,  although  I  have 
no  appetite,  1  thought  a  ride  to  the  village  would  give 
me  one." 

"  Wait  until  after  breakfast,  brother,  when  we  will  all 
go  with  you  to  meet  our  friends  who  come  this  morning  to 
Tilly,  our  cousin  Heloise  de  Lotbiniere  is  coming  to  see  you 
and  Pierre  Philibert.  Vou  must  be  there  to  welcome 
her.  Gallants  are  too  scarce  to  allow  her  to  spare  the  liand- 
somest  of  all,  my  own  brother  !  " 

Amelie  divined  trulv  from  Le  Gardeur's  restless  eves 
and  haggard  look  that  a  fierce  conflict  was  going  on  in  his 
breast,  between  duty  and  desire.  Whether  he  should  re- 
main at  home  or  go  to  the  village  to  plunge  again  into  the 
sea  of  dissipation  out  of  which  he  had  just  been  drawn  to 
land  half  drowned  and  utterly  desperate. 

Amelie  resc^Ived  not  to  leave  his  side  but  to  cleave  to 
him  antl  inch  by  inch  to  fight  the  demons  which  possessed 
him  until  she  got  the  victory. 


29S 


THE  CIllEM  irOR. 


Lc  (liidcur  lf)()kc(l  fondly  in  llic  f;u'c  of  Aniulie.  Ho 
re;ul  licr  iliou^iils,  and  was  \».;rv  conscious  wiiy  she  wished 
liiin  nol  to  ^o  to  the  village.  His  feelings j^ave  way  hefore 
her  love  and  tenderness.  He  suddenly  enihr.iced  her  and 
kissed  her  ilu-c^ks,  while  the  tears  stood  wellini^in  his  eyes. 
"  1  am  not  worthy  of  ycni,  Anielie,"  said  he,  "  so  much  sisterly 
care  is  lost  on  me  !  "• 

"Oh,  say  not  that,  brother,"  replied  she,  kissing  him 
fondlv  in  return.  "  1  would  give  mv  life  to  save  vou.  O  my 
brother  !  " 

yXmehe  was  greatly  moved  and  for  a  time  unable  to 
speak  further,  she  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  sob- 
bed "audibly.  Her  love  gained  the  Victory  where  remon- 
strance and  opposition  would  have  lost  it. 

"  You  have  won  the  day,  Amelie  !  "  said  he,  **  I  will  not 
go  to  the  village  except  with  you  ;  you  are  the  best  and 
truest  girl  in  all  Christendom  !  Why  is  there  no  oilier  like 
you  ?  If  there  were,  this  curse  had  not  come  upon  me,  nor 
this  trial  ni)on  you,  Amelie  !  you  are  my  good  angel  and  [ 
will  try,  ()  so  faithfully  try  to  be  guided  by  you  !  If  you 
fail  you  will  at  least  have  doneall,  and  more  than  your  duty 
towards  your  erring  brother." 

"  Le  IJrun  !  "  cried  he  to  the  groom  who  had  brought  his 
horse  and  to  whom  he  threw  the  whip  which  had  made  such 
havoc  among  the  Howers,  "lead  Black  Ciesar  to  the  stable 
again  !  and  h  irk  vou  !  when  I  bid  vou  bring  him  out  in 
the  early  morning  another  time,  lead  him  to  me  unbridled 
and  unsaddled,  with  only  a  halter  on  his  head,  that  I  may 
ride  as  a  clown,  not  as  a  gentleman  !" 

Le  Hrun  stared  at  this  speech  and  finally  regarderl  it  as 
a  capital  joke,  or  else  as  he  whispered  to  his  fellow  grooms 
in  the  stable,  "  He  believed  his  young  master  had  gone 
mad  I  " 

"Pierre  Philibert,"  continued  Amelie,"  is  down  at  the  sal- 
mon pool.  Let  us  join  him,  Le  Gardeur,  and  bitl  him  good 
morning  once  more  at  Tilly." 

Anielie,  overjoyed  at  her  victory,  tripped  gaily  by  the  side 
of  her  brother,  and  presently  two  frientUy  hands,  the  hands 
of  Pierre  Philibert  were  extended  to  greet  her  and  Le 
Gardeur. 

The  hand  of  Amelie  was  retained  for  a  moment  in  that 
of  Pierre  Pliilil)ert  sending  the  blood  to  her  cheeks.  There 
is  a  magnetic  touch  in  loving  lingers  which  is  never  mistak- 


A  DA  y  AT  THE  MANOR  HOUSE. 


299 


en,  though  their  contact  he  hut  for  a  second  of  time.  It 
antici|)ate.s  the  strong  grasp  of  h)ve  which  will  ere  long  em- 
brace body  and  soul  in  adamantine  chains  of  a  union  not 
to  he  broken  e\en  by  death. 

If  Pierre  I*hilil)ert  retained  the  hand  of  Ainelie  for  one 
second  longer  than  jnere  friendship  re(|i  ired  of  him,  no  one 
perceived  it  but  (iod  and  t'lemselves.  Pierre  fell  it  like  a 
revelation.  i'he  hand  of  Amelie  yielding  tinddly  but  not 
unwillingly  t(j  his  manly  gia^p.  He  looked  in  her  face. 
Her  eyes  were  averted  and  she  withdrew  her  hand  quietly 
but  gently,  as  not  upbraiding  him. 

That  moment  of  time  (lashed  a  new  influence  upon  both 
their  lives.  It  was  the  silent  recognition  that  each  was 
henceforth  conscious  of  the  sjHJcial  regard  of  the  other. 

'["here  are  moments  which  contain  the  whole  quintes- 
sence of  our  lives — our  loves,  our  hopes,  our  failures,  in  one 
concentrated  drop  of  hapjiiness  or  misery.  We  look  be- 
hind us  and  .see  that  our  whole  past  has  led  up  to  that  iutinit- 
essimal  fraction  of  time,  which  is  the  consummation  of  the 
past  in  the  present,  the  end  of  the  old  and  the  beginning  of 
the  new.  We  look  forward  from  the  vantage  gi"ound  of  the 
present  and  the  woild  of  a  new  revelation  lies  before  us. 

Pierre  Philibert  wms  conscious  from  that  moment 
that  Amc'lie  de  Repentigny  was  not  indifferent  to  him. 
N.iy  he  had  a  ground  of  hope  that  in  time  she  wouUl 
listen  to  his  pleadings  and  at  last  bestow  on  him  the  gift 
of  her  priceless  love. 

His  hopes  were  sure  liopes,  although  he  did  not  dare  to 
give  himself  the  sweet  assurance  of  it,  nor  did  Amelie  her- 
self as  yet  suspect  how  far  her  heart  was  irrevocably  wed- 
ded to  Pierre  Philibert 

Deep  as  was  the  impressi^ju  of  that  moment  upon  both 
of  them,  neither  JMiilibert  nor  Amelie  yielded  to  its  influ- 
ence more  than  to  lapse  into  a  momentary  silence  which 
was  relieved  by  Le  Gardeur,  who  suspecting  not  the  cause, 
nay.  thinking  it  was  on  his  account  that  his  companions 
were  so  unaccountably  grave  and  still,  kindly  endeavored 
to  force  the  conversation  upon  a  number  of  interesting  top- 
ics and  directed  the  attention  of  Philibert  to  various  ]ioints 
of  the  landscape  which  suggested  reminiscences  of  his  for- 
mer visits  to  Tilly. 

The  equilibiium  of  conversation  was  restored  and  the 
three  sitting  down  on  a  long  flat  stone,  a  boulder  which  had 


300 


THE  CHI  EN-  D'OR. 


■ 


I 


dropped  millions  of  yenrs  before  out  of  an  iccbcrcj  as  it  sailed 
slowly  over  the  fj^lacial  ocan  which  then  covered  the  place  of 
New  France,  commeneed  to  talk  over  Ainelie's  pro'jjraminc 
of  tiie  ])revious  nii:;ht,  the  anuisenicnts  she  had  planned 
for  the  week,  the  friends  in  all  quai leis  they  were  to  visit, 
and  the  friends  from  all  quarters  they  were  to  receive  at 
the  Manor  House.  'I'hese  topics  formed  a  source  of  fruit- 
ful conuncnt,  as  con\'ers:Uion  on  our  friends  alwa\s  does. 
]f  the  sun  shone  hot  and  iierce  at  noontide  in  the  dog  days 
they  would  enjoy  the-  cool  shade  of  the  arbors  with  l)ooks 
and  conversation.  Thev  would  ride  in  the  forest  or  em- 
bark  in  their  canoes  for  a  row  up  ihe  l)riL:;ht  little  river, 
there  would  be  dinners  and  di\L'rsions  for  the  day;  music 
and  dancing  for  the  night. 

'I'he  spirits  of  the  inmates  of  the  Manor  House  could 
not  hel|5  but  be  kept  up  by  these  expedients,  and  Anielie 
flattered  herself  that  she  would  quite  succeed  in  dissipat- 
ing the  gloomy  thoughts  which  occupied  the  mind  of 
Le  Gardeur. 

They  sat  on  the  stone,  by  the  brook  side  for  an  hour, 
conversing  pleasantly  while  they  watc!)ed  the  speckled  trout 
dart  like  silver  arrcnvs  spt^tted  with  blood  in  the  clear  pool, 

Le  Ciardeur  stro\'e  to  be  gay,  and  leased  Amelie  by 
playfully  criticising  her  programme,  and  half  in  earnest, 
half  in  jest,  arguing  for  the  superior  attractfons  of  the 
p:ilace  of  the  IiUendiint,  to  those  of  the  Manor  House  of 
Tilly.  He  saw  the  water  standing  in  her  eyes,  when  a  con- 
sciousness of  what  must  be  her  feelings  seized  him.  He 
drew  her  to  his  side,  asked  her  forgiveness,  and  wished  fire 
were  set  to  the  Palace  and  himself  in  the  midst  of  it.  He 
deserved  it  for  wounding,  even  in  jest,  the  heart  of  the 
best  and  noblest  sister  in  the  world. 

"  1  am  not  wounded,  dear  Le  (rardeur,"  replied  she, 
softly  ;  "  I  knew  you  were  only  in  jest  ;  my  foolish  heart 
is  so  sensitive  to  all  mention  of  the  Palace  and  its  occu- 
pants in  connection  with  you,  that  I  could  not  even  take  in 
jest  what  was  so  like  truth." 

"  Forgive  me,  I  will  never  mention  the  Palace  to  you 
again,  Amelie  !  except  to  repeat  the  malediction  I  have 
bestowed  upon  it  a  thousand  times  an  hou:,  since  I  return- 
ed to  Tilly." 

"  My  own  brave  brother  !  "  exclaimed  she,  embracing 
him,  "  now  I  am  happy  !  " 


A  DAY  AT  THE  .JAXOR  HOUSE. 


301 


he, 

[art 

|cu- 

\\\ 

JQW 

lin- 
ing 


The  shrill  notes  of  a  bu^le  were  heard  .>ouiulin2;  a  mil- 
itary call  to  Ijrcakfast.  It  was  the  special  privilei^e  of  an 
old  servitor  of  the  family  who  had  been  a  trumpeter  in  the 
troop  of  the  Sei<;neur  of  Tilly,  to  summon  the  family  of 
the  Manor  tlouse  in  that  maimer  to  breakfast  onlv.  The 
old  trumpeter  had  solicited  lon;^^  to  be  allowed  to  sound 
the  reveille  at  break  of  ilay,  but  the  j^ood  I/uly  de  'I'illy 
had  too  much  rejjjard  for  the  repose  of  the  inmates  of  her 
house  to  consent  to  any  such  untimely  waking  of  them 
from  their  morninj;'  slumbers. 

The  old  familiar  call  was  recojj;nized  by  Philibert,  who 
reminded  Amelie  of  a  day  when  lOolus  (the  ancient  trum- 
peter bore  that  windy  soubricpiet)  had  accompanied  them 
on  a  long  ramble  in  the  forest, — how  the  day,  being  warm, 
the  old  man  fell  asleep  uiitler  a  comfortable  shade,  while 
the  three  children  straggled  off  into  the  depths  of  the 
woods,  where  they  were  speedily  lost. 

"  I  remember  it  like  yesterday,  Pierre,"  exclaimed 
Amelie,  sparkling  at  the  reminscence  ;  "  1  recollect  how 
I  wept  and  wrung  my  hands,  tired  out,  hungrv  and  forlorn, 
with  my  dress  in  tatters,  and  one  shoe  left  in  a  miry  place  ! 
I  recollect,  moreover,  that  my  protectors  were  in  almost 
as  bad  a  ])light  as  myself,  yet  they  chivalrously  carried  the 
little  maiden  by  turns  or  together  made  a  (Queen's  chair 
for  me  with  tlieir  locked  hands,  until  we  all  broke  down 
together  and  sat  crying  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  reminding  one 
another  of  the  babes  in  the  wood,  and  recounting  stories 
of  bears  which  had  devoured  lost  nauiihtv  children  in  the 
forest.  I  remember  how  we  all  knelt  down  at  last  and  re- 
cited our  pra\ers  until  sudtlenly  we  heard  the  bugle  of 
Eolus  sounding  close  by  us.  The  poor  old  man,  wild  with 
raptuie  at  ha\iug  found  us,  kissed  and  shook  us  so  violent- 
ly that  we  almost  wished  ourselves  lost  in  the  forest  again." 

The  recollection  of  this  adventure  was  very  pleasing  to 
Pierre.  He  recalled  every  incident  of  it  perfi-ctly,  and  all 
three  of  them  seemed  for  a  while  transported  back  into 
the  fairy  land  of  their  happy  childhood. 

The  bugle  call  of  old  iM)lus  again  sounded  and  the 
three  friends  rose  and  pr(jceeded  towards  the  house. 

The  little  brook — it  had  never  looked  so  bright  before 
to  Amelie — sparkled  with  joy  like  her  own  eyes.  The 
orioles  and  blackbirtis  warbletl  in  the  bushes,  and  the  in- 
sects which  love  warmth   and  sunshine  chirmed  and  chir- 


302 


THE  cm  END' OR. 


'!  ' 


■\ 


riii")ccl  amonc:  the  ferns  and  branches,  as  Anidlie,  Pierre 
and  Lc  (Jardcur  walked  home  along  the  jjjreen  foot  path 
under  the  avenue  of  elms  that  led  to  the  Chateau. 

The  Lad}'  de  Tilly  received  them  with  many  pleasant 
words.  Leading  tiiem  into  the  breakfast  room,  she  con- 
gratulated Le  Gardeur  upon  the  satisfaction  it  afforded  her 
to  see  her  dear  children,  so  she  called  them,  once  more 
seated  round  her  l)oard  in  health  and  hapi:)iness.  Amelie 
colored  slightly,  and  looked  at  her  aunt  as  if  questioning 
whether  she  included  Philibcrt  among  her  children. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  guessed  her  thought,  but  pretending 
not  to,  bade  Felix  proceed  with  the  breakfast  and  turned 
the  conversation  to  topics  more  general.  ''  The  Iroquois," 
she  said  "had  left  the  Chaudiere  and  gone  further  East- 
ward ;  the  news  had  just  been  brought  in  by  messengers  to 
the  seigneury,  and  it  was  probable,  nay,  certain,  that  they 
would  not  be  heard  of  again.  Therefore  Le  Gardeur  and 
Pierre  Philibert  were  under  no  necessity  of  leaving  the 
Manor  to  search  for  the  savages,  but  could  arrange  with 
Amelie,  for  as  nuich  enjoyment  as  they  could  crowd  into 
these  summer  days. 

"  It  is  all  arranged,  aunt!  "  replied  Amt'lie.  We  have 
held  a  Cour  riciiicrc  this  morning,  and  made  a  code  of  laws 
for  our  kingdoiu  of  cocagne  during  the  next  eight  days. 
It  needs  only  the  consent  of  our  Suzeraine  Lady  to  be  at 
once  acted  upon." 

"  And  your  Suzeraine  Lady  gives  her  consent  without 
further  questioning,  Amelie  !  although  I  confess  you  have 
an  admirable  way  of  carrying  your  point,  Amelie,''  said  her 
aunt,  laughing,  "you  resolve  first  what  you  will  do,  and 
ask  my  approbation  after." 

"  \'es,  aunt,  that  is  our  way  in  the  kingdom  of  pleasure ! 
And  we  begin  this  morning;  Le  Gardeur  and  Pierre 
will  ride  to  the  village  to  meet  our  cousin  He'loise,  from 
Lotbiniere." 

"  But  you  will  accompany  us,  Amelie  !  "  exclaimed  Le 
Gardeur.     "  I  w  ill  not  go  else — it  was  a  bargain  !  " 

"  O,  I  did  not  count  myself  for  anything  but  an  em- 
barrassment !  of  course  I  shall  go  with  you,  Le  Gardeur, 
but  our  cousin  Ileloise  de  Lotl)iniere  is  coming  to  see  you, 
not  me.  .She  lost  her  heart,"  remarked  she  turning  to 
Pierre,  "  when  she  was  last  here,  at  the  feast  of  St.  John, 
and  is  coming  to  seek  it  again." 


A  £>A  V  AT  THE  MAXOR  HOUSE. 


Z<^Z 


"All!  how  was  that,  Ainelie?''  asked  Pliilibcrt,  "I  re- 
member the  lovelv  face,  the  chestnut  curls  and  briu;lu  bhick 
eyes  of  Heloise  de  Lotbiniere.  And  has  her's  reall\-  <^oiie 
the  way  of  all  hearts  ?" 

"Of  all  fjood  hearts,  Pierre — but  you  shall  hear  if  you 
will  be  goo(l  and  listen.  She  saw  the  portraits  of  you  and 
Le  Gardeur  one  day  huni;  in  the  boudoir  of  my  aunt, 
Heloise  professed  that  she  admired  both  until  she  could 
not  tell  which  she  liked  best,  and  left  me  to  decide." 

•'Ah  !  and  which  of  us  did  vou  trive  t(j  the  fair  Ile'loise  ?  " 
demanded  Philibert  with  a  sudden  interest. 

"  Not  the  Abelardshe  wanted,  vou  mav  be  sure,  Pierre," 
exclaimed  Le  Clardeur,  "she  ;;a\e  me  and  kept  you!  It 
was  a  case  of  clear  misappro])riation." 

"  No,  brother,  not  so  !"  rejilied  Amelie,  hastily,  "  He- 
loise had  tried  the  charm  of  the  three  caskets  with  the 
three  names  without  result,  and  at  last  watched  in  the 
church  j:)(jrch  on  the  eve  of  St.  John,  to  see  the  shade  of 
her  destined  lover  pass  by,  and  lo,  Heloise  vowed  she 
saw  me,  and  no  one  else,  pass  into  the  church!" 

"Ah  !  I  sup|)ose  it  was  you  ?  It  is  no  rare  thinp^  for 
you  to  visit  the  shrine  of  our  Lady  on  the  eve  of  St.  jolin. 
Pierre  Philibert,  do  you  recollect.''  O,  not  as  I  do,  dear 
friend,"  continued  Le  (lanleur  with  a  sudden  chair:;e  of 
voice,  which  was  now  filled  with  emotion,  "  it  was  on  the 
day  of  St.  John  you  saved  my  poor  worthless  life.  We  are 
not  uni^rateful  -I  She  has  kept  the  eve  of  St.  John  in  the 
chuich  ever  since  in  connnemriration  of  that  event." 

"  iirother,  we  have  much  to  thank  heaven  for!  "  replied 
Ame'lie,  blushini^;  deeply  at  his  words,  "and  I  trust  we  shall 
never  l)e  unj^ratefui  for  its  favor  and  jirotection." 

Auie'lie  shied  from  a  compliment  like  a  youni;  colt  at 
its  own  shadow.  She  avoided  further  reference  to  the  sub- 
ject broached  by  Le  Gardeur,  by  sayini^  "It  was  1  whom 
Heloise  saw  pass  into  the  church.  I  never  explained  the 
mystery  to  her  and  she  is  not  sure  yet  whether  it  was  my 
wraith  or  mvseif  who  trave  her  that  friij-ht  on  St.  fohn's 
eve.  But  I  claimed  her  heart  as  one  authorized  to  take 
it,  and  if  I  could  not  marry  her  myself  I  claimed  the  rijjjht 
to  i^dve  her  to  whomsoever  I  pleased,  and  I  i^ave  her  to  you, 
Le  Gardeur,  but  you  would  not  accept  the  sweetest  j;irl  in 
New  l''rance  !  " 

"  Thanks,  Amdlie,"  replied  he,  laughing,  yet  wincing, 


(= 


304 


THE  CI/ IE  AT  D'OR. 


• 


*'  Heloise  is  iiulce;!  all  you  say,  tlvj  swj'jtest  girl  in  New 
France  !  But  she  was  too  angelical  for  Le  Gardeur  de 
RejDcntigny.  I'shaw !  you  make  nie  say  foolish  things, 
Anielie.  JJut  in  [xniance  for  my  slight,  1  will  be  doubly 
attentive  to  my  fair  cousin  "de  Lotbiniere  to-day,  I  will  at 
once  order  the  horses  and  we  will  ritle  do\vn  to  the  villaire 
to  meet  her." 

Arrayed  in  a  simple  riding  dress  of  dark  blue,  which 
became  h.er  as  did  everything  else  which  she  wore — Amelie's 
verv  attire  seemed  instinct  with  the  livirnj;  j^races  and 
charms  of  its  wearer.  She  mounted  her  horse,  accepting 
the  aid  of  Philibert  to  do  so,  although  when  alone  she 
usually  sprang  to  the  saddle  herself,  saluting  the  Lady  de 
Tilly  who  waved  her  hand  to  them  from  the  lawn.  The 
three  friends  slowly  cantered  down  the  broad  avenue  of  the 
park  toward  the  village  of  Tilly. 

Ame'lie  rode  well.  The  exercise  and  the  pure  air 
brought  the  fresh  color  to  her  face,  and  her  eyes  sjjarkled 
with  animation  as  she  conversed  gailv  with  her  brother  and 
Thilibert. 

'I'hey  speedily  reached  the  village,  where  they  met  He- 
loise de  Lotbiniere,  who  rushing  to  Amelie  kissed  her  with 
effusion,  and  as  she  greeted  Le  Gardeur  l(X)ked  up  as  if 
she  would  not  have  refused  a  warmer  salutation  thin  the 
kind  shake  of  the  hand  with  which  he  received  her.  She 
welcomed  Philibert  with  glad  surprise,  recognizing  him  at 
once,  and  gi\  ing  a  glance  at  Amelie,  which  expressed  an 
ocean  of  unspoken  meaning  and  sympathy. 

Heloise  was  beautiful,  gay,  spirited,  full  of  good  humor, 
and  sensibility.  Her  heart  had  long  been  devoted  to  Le 
Gardeur,  but  never  meeting  with  any  response  to  her  shy 
advances,  which  w^ere  like  the  wheeling  of  a  dove  round 
and  round  its  wished-for  mate,  she  had  long  concluded 
with  a  sigh  that  for  her  the  soul  of  Le  Gardeur  was  insen- 
sible to  any  touch  of  a  warmer  regard  than  sprang  from 
the  most  sincere  friendship  and  regard. 

Amelie  saw  and  understood  all  this  ;  she  loved  Heloise, 
and  in  her  quiet  way  had  tried  to  awaken  a  kinder  feeling 
for  her  in  the  heart  of  her  brother.  As  one  fights  tire  with 
fire  in  the  great  conflagrations  of  the  prairies,  Amelie  hoped 
also  to  combat  the  influence  of  Angelique  des  Meloises  by 
raising  u|)  a  potent  rival  in  the  fair  Heloise  de  Lotbiniere, 
but  she  soon  found  how  futile  were  her  endeavors.     The 


A  DAY  A  r  THE  MAXOk  HOUSE. 


305 


t 


heart  of  Le  Gardeur  was  werlcled  to  the  idol  of  his  fancy, 
and  no  woman  on  earth  could  win  him  away  from  Ann^t'lique. 

Ameiie  comforted  Hiiloise  by  the  j;ift  of  her  whole  con- 
fidence and  sympathy,  'I'he  poor  disappointed  girl  ac- 
cepted the  decree  of  fate,  known  to  none  other  but  Ameiie, 
while  in  revenge  upon  herself — a  tiling  not  rare  in  proud, 
sensitive  natures — she  appeared  in  society  more  gay,  more 
radiant  and  full  of  mirth  than  ever  before.  Heloise  hid 
the  asp  in  her  bosom,  but  so  long  as  its  bite  was  unseen 
she  laughed  cruelly  at  the  jiain  of  it,  and  deceived  as  she 
thought  the  eyes  of  the  world  as  to  her  suffering. 

The  arrival  of  Heloise  de  Lotbiniere  was  followed  by 
that  of  a  crowd  of  other  visitors,  who  came  to  the  Manor 
Houi3e  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  family  on  their  return 
home,  and  especially  to  greet  Le  Ciardeur  and  Colonel 
Philibert,  who  was  well  remembered,  and  whom  the  busy 
tongues  of  gossip  already  set  down  as  a  suitor  for  the  hand 
of  the  young  chatelaine. 

The  report  of  what  was  said  by  so  many  whispering 
friends,  was  quickly  carried  to  the  ear  of  Ameiie  by  some- 
of  her  light-hearted  companions.  She  blushed  at  the  accu- 
sation, and  gently  denied  all  knowledge  of  it,  laughing  as 
a  woman  will  laugh  who  carries  a  hidden  joy  or  a  hidden 
sorrow  in  her  heart,  neither  of  which  she  cares  to  reveal  to 
the  world's  eye.  Ameiie  listened  to  the  pleasant  tale  with 
secret  complaisance,  for  despite  her  tremor  and  confusion 
it  was  pleasant  to  hear  that  Pierre  Philibert  loved  her,  and 
was  considered  a  suitor  f;)r  her  hand.  It  was  sweet  to 
know  that  the  world  believed  she  was  his  choice. 

She  threaded  every  one  of  these  precious  words,  like  a 
chaplet  of  pearls  upon  the  strings  of  her  heart — contem- 
plating them,  counting  them  over  and  over  in  secret,  with 
a  joy  known  only  to  herself  and  to  God,  whom  she  prayed 
to  guide  her  right  whatever  might  happen. 

That  something  would  happen  ere  long,  she  fjll  a  pre- 
monition, which  at  times  made  her  grave  in  the  milsi  of 
her  hopes  and  anticipations. 

The  days  passed  gaily  at  Tilly.  Ameiie  car:i.'d  out 
the  elaborate  programme  which  she  had  arrangevl  lor  the 
amusement  of  Le  Gardeur  as  well  as  for  the  pleasures  of 
her  guests. 

Every  day  brought  a  change  and  a  fresh  enjoyment. 
The  mornings  were  devoted  by  the  gentlemen  to  hunting, 

20 


IT 


306 


THE  CIIfEN  lyOK. 


' 


I' 

I 


,1     i 


I  |i 


I 


fishing;,  lunl  other  si)ort.  IJy  the  l.uli.cs  lo  reading,  music, 
drauin;^,  needlework  or  the  arrangeinents  of  dress  and 
ornaments.  In  tiie  afternoons  all  met  together,  and  the 
social  evening  was  spent  either  at  the  Manor  House  or 
some  neighboring  mansion.  The  liosi)ilality  ol  all  was 
alike,  a  prtjfusion  of  social  feeling  formed  at  that  day,  a 
marked  characteristic  of  the  people  of  New  France. 

'i'he  Lady  de  Tilly  spent  an  hour  or  two  each  day  with 
her  trusty  land  stewart  or  l>ailli.  Master  Cote,  in  attending 
to  the  multifarious  business  of  lier  Seigneurie.  I'he  feudal 
law  of  New  France  imposed  great  duties,  and  nuich  labor 
upon  the  Lords  of  the  ALuior,  b\-  giving  them  an  interest 
in  every  man's  estate,  and  making  them  i)arlicipators  in 
every  transfer  of  land  throughout  a  wiile  district  of  coun- 
try. A  person  who  accjuired  by  purchase  or  otherwise,  the 
lands  of  a  censitaire  or  vassal,  was  held  to  perform  /oi  et 
Jioninuv^e  for  the  lands  so  acciuired,  and  lo  acquit  all  other 
feudal  tlues  owing  by  the  original  holder  to   his   Seigneur. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  fair  summer  days  at  Tilly, 
that  Sieur  'I'ranchelot,  having  acquired  the  farm  of  the 
Bocage,  a  stri[)  of  land  a  furlong  wide,  and  a  league  in 
depth,  with  a  pleasant  frontage  on  the  broad  St.  Lawrence, 
the  new  censitaire  came  as  in  duty  bound  to  render  foi 
et  /loniDia^^i:  for  the  same  to  the  Lady  of  the  Manor  of  Lilly, 
according  to  the  law  and  custom  of  the  Seigneuiie. 

At  the  hour  of  noon,  I^ady  de  Tilly  with  Le  Gardeur, 
Amc'lie  and  Pierre  Phililj.'rt  in  full  dress  stood  on  a  dais 
in  the  great  Hall,  Master  Cote  sat  at  a  table  on  the  floor 
in  front,  with  his  great  clasped  book  of  record  open  before 
him.  A  drawn  swoid  lay  upon  the  table,  and  a  cup  of 
wine  stood  bv  the  side  of  it. 

W^heii  all  was  arranged,  three  loud  knocks  were  heard 
on  the  iireat  door,  and  the  Sieur  Tranchclot  dressed  in  his 
holiday  costume  but  bareheaded  and  without  sword  or 
spurs,  not  being  .i,'i7//'////(;.v/'//.'  he  was  not  entitled  l)  wear 
them,  entered  the  door,  which  was  ceremoniously  oj^ened 
for  him,  b\'  the  major  domo.  He  was  gravely  led  up  to 
the  dais  w here  stood  the  Lady  of  the  ^Lmor,  by  the  Stewart 
bearinir  his  wand  of  office. 

The  worthy  censitaire  knelt  down  before  the  lady  and 
repeated  her  name  three  times,  pronounced  the  formula  of 
foi  if  hoinniai^c,  presciibed  by  the  law,  as  owing  to  the 
Lords  of  the  Manor  of  Filly. 


A  DAY  AT  77/ E  MAXOR  HOUSE. 


307 


.Mrcl 
|i  liis 
\  or 
'car 
:aed 
[)  to 
Iwart 

and 
U  of 
the 


"  Mv  Ladv  de  'I'illv  !  iMv  Ladv  de  Tilly  !  Mv  Ladv  de 
Tilly!  I  rendcT  you  fealty  ami  lioiiia_ij;e  due  to  you  on  ac- 
count of  my  lands  of  the  IJocagc  which  bclonij;  to  me,  by 
virtue  of  the  deed  executed  by  the  Sieur  Marcel  before  the 
worthy  notary  lean  I'othier  tiit  Robin,  on  the  day  of  Palms 
I74<S,  and  I  ayow  my  willini^ness  to  acquit  the  SeJL^neurial 
and  feudal  icns  ct  rentes  and  all  other  lawful  dues,  when- 
soeyer  payable  by  nie  ;  beseeching  you  to  be  my  «;ood 
liege  lady,  and  to  admit  me  to  the  said  fealty  and  homaije  !  " 

The  lady  accepted  the  homage  of  Sieur  Tranchelot, 
gaye  him  the  cup  of  wine  to  drink  when  he  rose  lo  his  feet, 
and  ordered  him  to  be  generously  entertained  by  her 
major  domo,  and  sent  back  to  the  liocage  r«  'oicing.  S) 
the  days  passed  by  in  alternation  of  business  and  pastime, 
but  all  made  a  pleasure  for  the  agreeable  inmates  of  the 
Manor  Mouse. 

IMiilibert  gaye  himself  up  to  the  delirum  of  enchant- 
ment, which  the  presence  of  Ame'lie  threw  oyer  him.  He 
never  tired  of  watching  the  fresh  developments  of  her 
gloriously  endowed  nature.  Her  beauty  rare  as  it  was, 
grew  day  by  day  upon  his  wonder  and  admiration,  as  he 
saw  how  fully  it  corresponded  to  the  innate  grace  and 
nobility  of  her  mind. 

She  was  so  fresh  of  thought,  so  free  from  all  affectation, 
so  gentle  and  winning  in  all  her  ways,  and  sooth  to  say 
so  happy  in  the  admiration  of  Philibert,  which  she  was 
very  conscious  of  now.  It  darted  from  his  eyes  at  every 
look,  although  no  wtjrd  of  it  had  yet  passed  his  lips.  The 
radiance  of  her  spirits  flashed  like  sunbeams  through  every 
part  of  the  old  Manor  House. 

Ame'lie  was  carried  away  in  a  flood  of  new  emotion, 
she  tried  once  or  twice  to  be  discreetly  angry  with  herself 
for  admitting  so  unreservedly  the  pleasure  she  felt  it. 
Pierre's  admiration,  she  placed  her  soul  on  a  rack  of  self 
questioning  torture  and  eyer\-  inc[uisilion  she  made  of  her 
heart,  returned  the  self  same  answer.  ""  She  loved  Pierre 
Philibert!" 

It  was  in  vain  she  accused  herself  of  possible  impro- 
priety, that  it  was  bold,  uniuaidenly,  censurable,  na\-,  per- 
haps sinful,  to  give  her  heart  before  it  had  been  asked  for, 
but  if  she  had  to  die  for  it,  she  could  not  conceal  the  truth, 
that  she  loved  Pierre  Philibert  !  "  I  ought  to  be  angry  with 
myself,"  said  she.     "  1  try  to  be  so,  but  1  cannot!    Why?  " 


3o8 


THE  cniEN  D'OiK. 


"  Why  ?  "  Anielie  solved  tlic  query  as  every  true 
woman  docs,  who  asks  herself  why  she  loves  one  man 
rather  than  another!  "Because  he  has  chosen  me  out  in 
preference  to  all  others,  to  be  the  treasure  keeper  of  his 
afleclions  !  1  am  proud,"  continued  Amelie,  "  that  he 
gives  his  love  to  me,  to  me  I  unworthy  as  I  am  of  such  pre- 
ference !  I  am  no  better  than  others."  Amelie  was  a 
true  woman,  pioud  as  an  Km|iress  before  other  men.  She 
was  humble  and  lowly  as  the  Madonna,  in  the  jjresence  of 
him  whom  she  felt  was  by  rigiit  of  love,  lord  and  master  of 
her  affections. 

Amelie  could  not  overcome  a  feeling  of  tremor  in  the 
presence  of  Pierre  since  she  made  this  discovery.  Her 
cheek  warmed  witli  an  incipient  iiush,  when  his  ardent  eyes 
glanced  at  her  too  eloquently.  She  knew  what  was  in  his 
heart,  and  once  or  twice,  when  casually  alone  with  Philibert, 
she  saw  his  lips  quivering  under  a  hard  restraint  to  keep 
in  the  words,  the  dear  words,  she  thought,  which  would 
one  day  burst  forth  in  a  ilood  of  passionate  eloquence, 
overwhelming  all  denial,  and  make  her  his  own  forever. 

Time  and  tide,  which  come  to  all,  once  in  our  lives  as 
the  poet  says,  and  which  must  be  taken  at  their  flood  to 
lead  to  fortune,  came  at  length  to  Amelie  t'o  Repentigny. 

It  came  suddenlv  and  in  an  unlooked  for  hour,  the 
great  question  of  questions  to  her  as  to  e\ery  woman. 

The  hour  of  birth  and  the  hour  of  death  are  in  God's 
hand,  but  the  hour  when  a  woman  yielding  to  the  strong 
enfolding  arm  of  a  man  who  loves  her,  falters  forth  an 
avowal  of  her  love,  and  plights  her  troth,  and  vows  to  be 
one  with  him  till  deatli,  God  leaves  tliat  question  to  be 
decided  b\'  her  own  heart.  His  blessing  rests  upon  her 
choice,  if  ]nn-e  lo\'e  guides,  and  reason  eidightcns  affec- 
tion. His  curse  .nfallibly  follows  e\'er)-  faithless  pledge 
where  no  heart  is,  e\ery  union  that  is  not  the  marriage  of 
love  and  truth.  'J'hese  alone  can  be  married,  and  where 
these  are  absent,  there  is  no  marriaiie  at  all  in  the  face 
of  Heaven,  and  but  the  simulation  of  one  on  earth,  an 
unequal  yoking  which  if  man  will  not  sunder — God  will  at 
hist,  where  there  is  neither  marriage  nor  giving  in  marriage 
but  all  are  as  h  s  angels. 

The  dav  appointed  for  the  long  j^laiuied  excursion  to  the 
beautiful  Lake  of  Tilly  came  round.  A  numerous  and 
cheerful  water-party  left  the  Manor    House  in   the  bright 


A  DAY  AT  THE  MANOR  HOUSE. 


309 


cool  morninp;  to  spend  the  d;iy  f^vpsying  in  the  shady 
woods  and  (juiet  recesses  of  the  little  lake.  'I'liey  were  all 
there.  Ainelie's  invilaiion  to  her  young  friends  far  and 
near  had  been  eagerly  accepted.  Half  a  dozen  boats  and 
canoes  tilled  with  light-hearted  companions  and  with 
ample  provisions  for  the  day.  shot  up  tiie  narrow  river, 
and  after  a  rapid  and  merry  voyage,  disembarked  their 
passengers  and  were  drawn  up  on  the  shores  and  islands 
of  the  lake. 

That  bright  morning  was  followed  by  a  sunny  day,  of 
blue  skies,  warm  yet  breezy.  The  old  oaks  wove  a  carpet 
of  shadows,  changing  the  pattern  of  its  tissue  every  hour 
upon  the  leaf-strewn  (loor  of  the  forest.  The  fresh  pines 
shed  their  resinous  perfume  on  every  side  in  the  still  shade, 
but  out  in  the  sunshine  the  birds  sansr  merrilv  all  dav. 

The  groups  of  merry-makers  spent  a  glorious  day  of 
pleasure  by  the  side  (jf  the  clear  smooth  lake,  fishing  and 
junketting  on  shore  or  paddling  their  birch  canoes  over 
its  waters  among  the  little  islands  which  dotted  its  sur- 
face. 

Day  was  fast  fading  away  into  a  soft  twilight,  the 
shadows  which  had  been  diawing  out  longer  and  longer  as 
the  sun  declined,  lay  now  in  all  their  length,  like  bands 
stretched  over  the  greensward.  The  brteze  went  down 
with  the  sun,  and  the  smooth  surface  of  the  lake  lav  like  a 
sheet  of  molten  gold  retleciing  the  parting  glories  of  the 
day  that  still  lit  up  the  western  sky. 

A  few  stars  began  to  twinkle  here  and  there  ;  they 
were  not  destined  to  shine  brilliantly  to-night,  for  they 
would  ere  long  be  eclipsed  by  the  splendor  of  the  full 
moon,  which  was  just  at  hand,  rising  in  a  hemisphere  of 
light,  which  stood  like  a  ro\al  jxivilion  on  the  eastern  hori- 
zon. P>om  it  in  a  few  minutes  would  emerge  the  (^ueen 
of  Heaven  and  mildly  replace  the  vanishing  glory  of  the 
day. 

The  company  after  a  repast  under  the  trees,  rose  full 
of  life  and  merriment  and  rearranged  themselves  into  little 
groups  and  couples  as  chance  or  inclination  led  them. 
They  trooped  down  to  the  beach  to  embark  in  their  canoes 
for  a  last  joyous  cruise  round  the  lake  and  its  fairy  islands, 
by  moonlight,  before  returning  home. 

Amid  a  shower  of  lively  conversation  and  laughter,  the 
ladies  seated  themselves  in  the  Ii<rht  canoes  which  danced 


3IO 


THE  cm  EN  noR. 


like  corks  upon  the  water  The  p^ontlcmen  took  the 
patkllcs,  and  expert  as  Indians  in  the  use  of  iheni,  swept 
out  over  the  surface  of  the  lake  which  was  now  all  agh)\v 
with  the  bright  crimson  of  sunset. 

In  the  l)ow  of  one  of  the  canoes  sat  the  Arion  of  Tilly, 
Jean  I^a  Marche,  a  flute  or  two  accompanied  his  viohn, 
and  a  jjuitar  tinkled  sweetly  under  th(;  (ini^ers  of  Heloise 
de  Lotbiniere.  They  played  an  old  air,  while  Jean  led  the 
chorus  in  splendid  voice. 

"  Nous  irons  siir  I'cau, 
Nous  y  prom-promcncr, 
Nous  irons  joucr  chins  Tislc." 

The  voicer,  of  all  united  in  the  sonj^^  as  the  canoes 
swept  away  round  a  little  promontory  crowned  with  three 
pine  trees  which  stood  up  in  the  blaze  of  the  setting;  sun, 
like  the  three  children  in  the  liery  furnace,  or  the  sacred 
bush  that  burned  and  was  not  consumed. 

Faint  and  fainter,  the  echoes  repeated  the  receding 
harmony,  until  at  last  they  died  away.  A  solemn  silence 
succeeded.  A  laniijuor  like  that  of  the  Lotus-eaters  crept 
over  the  face  of  nature  and  softened  the  heart  to  unwonted 
tenderness.  It  was  the  hour  of  gentle  thoughts,  of  low 
spoken  confidences,  and  love  between  young  and 
sympathizing  souls,  who  alone  with  themselves  and  (jod 
confess  their  mutual  love  and  invoke  his  blessing  upon 
it. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 


FELICES   TER    ET   AMPLIUS. 

Amelie,  by  accident  or  by  contrivance  of  her  fair 
companions,  girls  are  so  wily  and  sympathetic  with  each 
other,  had  been  left  seated  by  the  side  of  Philibert,  on  the 
twisted  roots  of  a  iriiiantic  oak  forming  a  rude  but  simple 
chair  fit  to  enthrone  the  kinii;  of  the  forest  and  his  dryad 
queen.  No  sound  came  to  break  the  quiet  of  the  evenuig 
hour  save  the  monotonous  plaint  of  a  whip-poor-will  in  a 


rF.T.TCES  TF.K  ET  AMPIIVS. 


3" 


tair 
ach 
the 
I  pie 
'ad 
ling 
a 


distant  brake,  and  the  ceaseless  chirm  of  insects  among 
the  leafy  Ixnijijiis  and  down  in  the  ferns  tiiat  clnslered  on 
the  knolls  round  ahonf. 

IMiilihrrt  let  fall  upnii  his  knee  the  hook  whieh  lie  had 
been  readinj];.  His  voice  faltered,  h'^  coiiid  not  continue 
without  emotion  the  touehinji;  tale  of  Paulo  and  I'Vancesca 
da  Kimini.  -Anielic's  eyes  were  suffused  with  tears  of 
pity,  for  her  heart  had  heat  time  to  the  music  of  Dante's 
innnorlal  xcrse  as  it  dropped  in  nie;isured  cadence  from 
the  lips  of  IMiilihert. 

She  had  read  the  pathetic  story  before,  but  never 
comprehended  until  ncnv,  the  weakness  wiiich  is  the 
strength  of  love,  ()  blessed  paradox  of  a  woman's  heart ! 
and  how  truly  the  Cammiifia  which  is  justly  calletl  Divine, 
unlocks  the  secret  chambers  of  the  human  soul. 

Philibert  ceased  his  readin<^  and  <;azed  fondly  at  her 
face,  which  she  shylv  averted,  lof)kin<;  away  over  the  broad 
sheet  of  water  while  repeaiin<;  in  lhoujj;IU  some  of  the 
divine  stanzas  whi<,I.  lingered  like  the  chime  of  silver  bells 
U])on  her  memory. 

Alitor  cIi'  al  cor  f^ciuil  ratio  s'appmidc. 
Amor  i^r  (I  ind!  tiinalc  aviar  f^cnlona, 
Qitcsti  I /it'  mat  Ja  mi  itoiijia  dniso. 

Love  that  doth  quickly  seize  the  gentle  heart, 
Love  that  excuses  no  loved  one  from  lovinij, 
He  who  from  me  shall  ne'er  be  parted  more." 

Love  is  death  as  well  as  life,  separation  as  well  as 
meetins;  I  Amelie  was  melted  at  the  passionate  tale  and 
trembled,  she  knew  not  why,  but  she  dared  not  for  worlds 
at  that  moment  have  looked  up  in  the  eyes  of  Pierie 
Philibert. 

She  would  fain  have  risen,  but  held  down  as  by  some 
spell  of  fascination,  she  kept  her  seat. 

"  Read  no  more,  Pierre,"  said  she,  "  that  book  is  too 
terrible  in  its  beauty  and  in  its  sadness!  I  think  it  was 
written  by  a  disembodied  spirit  who  had  seen  all  worlds, 
knew  all  hearts,  and  shared  in  all  sufferinp,s.  It  sounds 
to  me  like  the  sad  voice  of  a  prophet  of  woe." 

"  Amelie.''  replied  he,  '"  believe  you  there  arc  women 
faithful  and  true  as  P'rancesca  da  Rimini  ?  she  would  not 
forsake  Paulo  even  in  the  cjloomy  rejjions  cf  despair. 
Believe  you  that  there  are  such  women  ?  " 


3»2 


THE  CI II END' OR. 


n 


1 1 


Aniclie  looked  at  him  with  a  (jiiick  confident  j;Iancc. 
A  deep  flush  covered  her  cheek,  and  her  breath  went  and 
came  rapidly,  she  knew  what  to  answer,  but  she  thougiit 
it  mij^ht  seem  over  bold  to  answer  sucii  a  f|iiestion,  A 
second  thoiij;ht  decided  her,  however.  I'ierre  IMiilibert 
wouhl  ask  her  no  question  to  winch  she  mi-^lu  not  answer, 
she  said  to  herself. 

Amelie  replied  to  him  slowly,  but  undoubtin^^ly  ;  "I 
think  there  are  such  women,  Pierre,"  replied  she,  "women 
who  W(jMld  never  even  in  the  rej^ions  of  despair,  forsake 
the  man  whom  they  truly  love,  no,  not  for  all  the  terrors 
recorded  in  that  awful  b(K;k  of  Dante  !" 

''  It  is  a  blessed  (ruth,  Amelie,"  replied  he,  caj^^erly,  and 
lie  thouji^lit  but  did  not  say  it,  "  such  a  woman  you  are, 
the  man  who  i^ets  your  love,  jjets  that  which  neither  earth 
nor  heaven  nor  hell  can  take  away." 

Me  continued  aKnid,  "the  love  of  such  a  woman  is 
truly  <;iven  away,  Amelie,  no  one  can  "icrit  it !  It  is  a 
woman's  <i^race  not  man's  deservinj^.'' 

"  I  know  not,"  said  she,  "  it  is  not  hard  to  <:;ive  away 
God's  <;ifls,  love  should  be  ^iven  freely  as  (»od  ijives  it  to 
us.  It  has  no  value  except  as  the  bounty  of  the  heart,  and 
looks  for  no  reward  but  in  its  own  acceptance." 

"  Amelie  ! "  exclaimed  he,  j^assionately,  turnings  full 
towards  her  ;  but  her  eyes  remained  fixed  upon  the  ground. 
"  'I'he  gift  of  such  a  woman's  love  has  been  the  dream, 
the  ambition  of  my  life  !  I  may  never  find  it,  or  having 
found  it  may  never  be  worthy  of  it,  and  yet!  I  must  find 
it  or  die!  I  must  find  it  where  alone  I  seek  it!  there  or 
nowhere !  can  you  help  me  for  frien<lship's  sake — for 
love's  sake,  Amelie  de  Rcpentigny,  to  find  that  one 
treasure  that  is  |)recious  as  life,  which  is  life  itself  to  the 
heart  of  I'ierre  Philibert.^" 

He  took  hold  of  her  passive  hands.  They  trembled  in 
his,  but  she  offered  not  to  withdraw  them.  Indeed,  she 
hardly  noticed  the  act  in  the  tide  of  emotion  which  was 
surging  in  her  bosom.  Her  heart  mo\ed  with  a  wild  yearn- 
ing to  tell  him  that  he  luid  found  the  treasure  he  sought, 
— that  a  love  as  strong  and  as  devoted  as  that  of  Fran- 
cesca  da  Rimini  was  her  own  free  gift  to  him. 

She  tried  to  answer  him,  but  could  not.  Her  hand 
still  remained  fast  locked  in  his.  He  held  to  it  as  a  drown- 
ing man  holds  to  the  hand  that  is  stretched  to  save  him. 


FELICES  TER  ET  AMPIJUS. 


m 


in<r 


md 


riiilihcrt  knew  at  that  inonicnt  that  the  hour  of  his 
fate  \v  IS  eome.  He  would  ni-viM"  let  f^f)  that  hand  a;;ain 
till  he  eailed  it  his  own,  or  received  from  it  a  sii^n  t<)  be 
gone  for  ever  from  the  presence  of  Amelie  di;  Repentifjny. 

The  soft  twili;^lit  ;^rew  deeper  and  deeper  every  mo- 
ment, chani;iim  the  rosy  hues  of  the  west  ialo  a  jiale  ashen 
grey,  over  which  hun:;  llie  lamp  of  love — the  evenin;^  star, 
which  shines  so  brightly  and  sets  so  soon — and  ever  the 
sooner  as  it  hastens  to  become  a^ain  the  morninjjj  star  of  a 
bri, liter  day. 

The  sha  1  »w'  of  the  broad,  spreadini;  tree  fell  darker 
round  the  rustic  seal  when;  sat  these  two — as  mvriads  have 
sat  before;  and  since,  workinj;  out  the  problems  of  their  lives, 
and  be-^inniufj  to  comprehend  each  other,  as  they  await 
with  a  thrill  of  anticipation  the  mo.nenl  (A  mutual  conti- 
dence  and  fond  confession. 

IMerre  IMiilibert  sal  Sf)me  minutes  without  speaking. 
He  could  h  ive  sat  so  for  ever,  gazing  with  ra])ture  upon 
1,  half  averted  countenance,  which  beamed  with  such  a 
divine  beaulv,  all  aglow  with  the  hapi)y  consciousness  of 
his  ardent  admiration,  thai  it  seemed  the  face  of  a  sera|)h, 
and  in  his  heart,  if  not  on  his  knees,  he  bent  in  worship, 
almost  idolatrous,  at  her  feet. 

And  yet  he  trembled,  this  strong  man  who  had  faced 
death  in  every  form  but  this  !  He  trembled  by  the  side  of 
this  gentle  girl — bvii  it  was  for  joy,  not  for  fear.  Per- 
fect love  casts  out  fear,  and  he  had  no  fear  now  for  Amelie's 
love,  although  she  had  not  yet  dared  to  look  at  him.  l]ut 
her  little  hand  lay  unie|)rovingly  in  his — nestling  like  a 
timid  bird,  which  loved  to  be  there,  and  sought  not  to  es- 
cape. He  pressed  it  gently  to  his  heart  ;  he  felt  by  its 
magnetic  touch,  by  that  dumb  alphabet  of  love,  more  elo- 
quent than  spf)ken  words,  that  he  had  won  the  luart  of 
Amelie  de  Repenligny. 

"  Pierre,"  said  she, — she  wanted  to  say  it  was  time  to 
•rejoin  their  companions — but  the  words  would  not  come. 
Her  face  was  still  half  averted,  and  suffused  with  an  un- 
seen blush,  as  she  felt  his  strong  arm  round  her  ;  and  his 
breaih,  how  sweet  it  seemed,  fanning  her  cheek.  She  had 
no  |Knver,  no  will  to  resist  li-im,  as  he  drew  her  close,  siill 
closer  to  his  heart. 

Sh(!  trembled,  but  was  happy.  No  eye  saw  but  God's 
through  the  blessed  twilight  ;  and  "  God  will   not   reprove 


I 


I      i 

-!  i 


314 


r/in:  ciriEiY  d'or. 


Pierre  Philibcrt  for  lovinji^  me,"  thought  she,  "and  why 
should  I?"  Slie  tried,  or  simuhited,  an  attenijit  at  soft  re- 
proof, as  a  woman  will  who  fears  she  may  l^e  tiiouii^ht  too 
fond  and  too  easily  won,  at  the  very  moment  she  is  ready 
to  fall  down  and  kiss  the  feet  of  the  man  before  her. 

"  Pierre,"  said  sht'.  "  it  is  time  we  rejoin  our  compan- 
ions ;  they  will  remark  our  absence.     We  will  j:jo.'' 

But  she  still  sat  there,  and  made  no  effort  to  go.  A  gos- 
samer thread  co  ;ld  have  ludd  her  there  for  ever,  and  how 
could  she  put  aside  the  strong  arm  that  was  mightier  than 
her  fnvn  will  .' 

Pierre  spoke  now  ;  the  feelings  so  long  pent  up,  burst 
forth  in  a  torrent  that  swept  away  every  bond  of  restraint, 
but  that  of  love's  own  laws. 

He  placed  his  hand  tenderly  on  her  cheek,  and  turned 
her  glowing  face  full  towards  liim.  wStill  she  dared  not 
look  up.  She  knew  well  what  he  was  going  to  say.  She 
miizht  control  her  words,  but  not  her  tell-tale  eves.  She 
felt  a  wild  joy  flashing  and  leaping  in  her  bosom,  which  no 
art  could  conceal,  should  she  look  up  at  this  moment  in 
the  face  of  Pierre  Philibert. 

"  Amc'lie,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  "  turn  those  dear 
eyes,  and  see  and  believe  in  the  truth  of  mine  !  No  words 
can  express  how  much  I  do  love  you  !  " 

She  gave  a  start  of  joy, — not  of  surprise,  for  she  knew 
he  loved  her.  Put  the  avowal  of  Pierre  Philibert's  love 
lifted  at  once  the  veil  from  her  own  feelings.  She  raised  her 
dark,  impassioned  eyes  to  his  ;  and  their  souls  met  and  em- 
braced in  one  look  both  of  recognition  and  bliss.  She  spake 
not,  but  unconsciously  nestled  closer  to  his  breist,  falter- 
ing out  some  inarticulate  words  of  tenderness. 

"  Amelie,"  continued  he,  straining  her  siill  harder  to  his 
heart,  "  vour  love  is  all  I  ask  of  heaven  and  of  vou.  Give  me 
that.  I  must  have  it,  or  live  henceforth  a  man  forlorn  in  the 
wide  world.  O  say,  darling,  can  you,  do  you  care  for  me  .''  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  do  !  rci)lied  she,  laying  her  arm  over* 
his  neck,  as  if  drawing  him  towards  her  with  a  timid  move- 
ment, while  he  stooped  and  kissed  her  sweet  mouth  and 
eyes  in  an  ecstasy  of  passionate  joy.  She  abandoned  her- 
self for  a  moment  to  her  excess  of  bliss.  ''  Kiss  me,  dar- 
ling !  "  said  he  ;  and  she  kissed  him  more  than  once,  to 
express  her  own  great  love,  and  assure  him  that  it  was 
all  his  own. 


FELICES  TER  ET  A  MELIUS. 


315 


They  sat  in  silence  for  some  minutes  ;  lier  check  lay 
upon  his,  as  she  breathed  his  name  with  many  fond,  fal- 
tering expres'  ions  of  tenderness. 

He  felt  her  tears  upon  his  face.  "  You  weep,  Amdiie," 
said  he.  staitinp;  up  and  looking  at  her  cheeks  and  eyes 
suffused  with  moisture. 

"  I  do,  "  said  she,  '•  hut  it  is  for  joy!  O  Pierre  Phili- 
bert,  1  am  so  happy  !  Let  me  weejj  now;  I  will  laugh 
soon.  P'orgive  me  if  1  iiave  confessed  too  readily  how  much 
I  love  you  !  " 

"  Forgive  you  !  'tis  I  need  forgiveness  ;  impetuous  that 
I  am  to  have  forced  this  confession  from  you  to-night. 
Those  blessed  words,  '  V'es,  indeed  I  do.' — (jod's  finger 
has  written  them  on  my  heart  for  ever.  Never  will  I  for- 
sake the  dear  lijjs  which  spake  them,  nor  fail  in  all  loving 
dutv  and  affection  to  you,  mv  Amclie,  to  the  end  of  my 
life'." 

"Of  both  oui  lives,  Pierre,"  rejjlied  she  ;  "I  can  imag- 
ine no  life,  only  death,  separated  from  you.  In  thought 
you  have  always  been  with  me  from  the  beginning;  my  life 
and  vours  are  henceforth  one." 

He  gave  a  start  of  joy.  "  And  you  loved  me  before, 
Amelie  !  "  exclaimed  he. 

"  Ever  and  always,  but  irrevocably  since  that  day  of 
terror  and  joy  when  you  saved  the  life  of  I^e  Gardeur,  and 
I  vowed  to  pray  for  you  to  tiie  end  of  my  life." 

"  And  during  these  long  years  in  the  convent,  Amelie, 
— when  we  seemed  utterlv  forgotten  to  each  other  1  " 

"  You  were  not  forgotten  by  ine,  Pierre  !  I  prayed  for 
you,  then, — earnest  prayers  for  your  safety  and  happiness, 
never  hoping  for  more  ;  least  of  all  anticipating  such  a 
moment  of  bliss  as  the  present.  O  my  Pierre,  do  not  think 
me  bold.  You  give  me  the  right  to  love  you,  without 
shame  bv  the  avowal  of  your  love  to  me." 

"  Amelie  !  "  exclaimed  he,  kissing  her  in  an  ecstacy  of 
joy  and  admiration,  "  what  have  I  done — what  can  I 
ever  do,  to  merit  or  recompense  sucli  condescension  as 
your  dear  words  express  .''  " 

"  Love  me,  Pierre  !  Alwavs  love  me  !  Tiiat  is  my 
reward!  That  is  all  I  ask,  all  my  utmost  imagination 
could  desire." 

"  And  this  little  hand,  Amc'lie,  will  be  for  ever  mine  ?  " 

"  For  ever,  Pierre,  and  the  heart  along  with  it." 


i   ■ 


.i 

I 

i 


'  1 


--Mi: 


316 


THE  Cn/EN-  D'OR. 


He  raised  her  hand  reverently  to  his  hps  and  kissed  it. 
"  Let  it  not  be  long,"  said  he.  "  Life  is  too  short  to  cur- 
tail one  hour  of  happiness  from  the  years  full  of  trouble, 
which  are  most  men's  lot." 

"  Jkit  not  our  lot,  Pierre.  Not  ours.  With  you,  I  for- 
bode  no  more  trouble  in  this  life,  and  eternal  joy  in  the 
next !  " 

She  looked  at  him,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  dilate  with 
joy.  Her  hand  crept  timidly  up  to  his  thick  locks  ;  she 
fondly  brushed  them  aside  from  his  broad  forehead,  which 
she  pressed  down  to  her  lips  and  kissed. 

''Tell  mv  aunt  and  Le  Gardeur  when  w?.  return  home," 
continued  she.  "  They  love  you,  and  will  be  glad — nay, 
overjoyed,  to  know  that  I  am  to  be  your — your — 

'*  My  wife  ! — Amclie,  thrice  blessed  words  ! — O,  say  my 
wife  !  " 

"  Yes,  your  wife,  Pierre  !  Your  true  and  loving  wife 
for  ever." 

"Forever!  Yes.  Love  like  ours  is  imperishable  as 
the  essence  of  the  soul  itself,  and  partakes  of  the  immor- 
tality of  God,  being  of  him  and  from  him.  '^^he  Lady  de 
Tilly  shall  find  me  a  worthy  son,  and  Le  Gardeur  a  true 
andfaithful  brother." 

"  And  you,  Pierre  !  O,  say  it  ;  that  blessed  word  has 
not  sounded  yet  in  my  ear — what  shall  I  Call  you  ?  "  And 
she  looked  in  his  eyes,  drawing  his  soul  from  its  inmost 
depths  by  the  magnetism  of  her  look. 

"  Your  husband  ;  your  true  and  loving  husband,  as  you 
are  my  wife,  Amelie." 

"  God  be  praised  !  "  murmured  she  in  his  ear.  "  Yes, 
my  Jnishaiiii !  The  blessed  Virgin  has  heard  my  prayers." 
And  she  jM"essed  him  in  a  fond  embrace,  while  tears  of  joy 
flowed  kom  her  eyes.     "  1  am  indeed  happy  !  " 

The  words  hardly  left  her  lips  when  a  sudden  crash  of 
thunder  rolled  over  their  heads  and  went  pealing  down  the 
lake  and  nmong  the  islands,  while  a  black  cloud  suddenly 
eclipsed  the  moon,  shedding  darkness  over  the  landscape, 
which  had  just  begun  to  brighten  in  her  silvery  rays. 

Amelie  was  startled,  frightened,  clinging  hard  to  the 
breast  of  Pierre,  as  her  natural  protector.  She  trembled 
and  shook  as  the  nngry  reverberations  rolled  away  in  the 
distant  forests.  "  Oh,  Pierre  I  "  exclaimed  she,  "  what  is 
that.''     It  is  as  if  a  dreadful  voice  came  between  us,  for- 


FELICES  TER  ET  AMELIUS, 


317 


bidding  our  union  !     But  nothing  shall  ever  do  that  now, 
shall  it?     Oh.  mv  love  !  " 

"  Nothing.  Anu'lie.  Be  comforted,"  replied  he.  "It 
is  but  a  thunder-storm  coming  up.  It  will  send  Le  Gard- 
eur  and  all  our  gay  companions  quickly  back  to  us,  and 
we  shall  return  home  an  hour  sooner,  that  is  all.  Heaven 
cannot  frown  on  our  union,  darling." 

'*  I  should  love  you  all  the  «ime,  Pierre,"  whispered 
she.  Amelie  was  not  hard  to  persuade  ;  she  was  neither 
weak  nor  superstitious  beyond  her  age  and  sex.  l)Ut  she 
had  not  mucli  time  to  indulire  in  alarms. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  sound  of  voices  was  heard  ,  tiie 
dip  and  splash  of  hasty  paddles  followed,  and  the  Heet  of 
canoes  came  rushing  into  shore  like  a  (lock  of  water-fowl 
seeking  shelter  in  bay  or  inlet  from  a  storm. 

There  was  a  hastv  preparation  on  all  sides  for  depar- 
ture. The  camp  fires  were  trampled  out,  lest  they  should 
kindle  a  conHagration  in  the  forest.  The  baskets  were 
tossed  into  one  of  the  large  canoes.  Philibert  and  Amelie 
embarked  in  that  of  Le  Gardeur,  not  witiiout  many  arch 
smiles  and  jjretended  regrets,  on  the  ])art  of  some  of  the 
young  ladies,  for  having  left  them  on  their  last  round  of 
the  lake. 

The  clouds  kept  gathering  in  the  south,  and  there  was 
no  lime  > or  parley.  The  canoes  weie  headed  down  the 
stream,  tl.e  paddles  were  plied  vigorously :  it  was  a  race 
to  keep  a-head  of  the  coming  storm,  and  they  did  not  quite 
win  it. 

The  black  clouds  came  rolling  over  the  horizon  in  still 
blacker  masses,  lr)wer  and  lower,  lashing  the  very  earth  ^ 
with  their  angry  skirts,  which  were  rent  and  split  with  vivid 
flashes  of  lightning.  The  rising  wind  almost  overpowered 
with  its  roaring  the  tlumder  that  pealed  momentarily 
nearer  and  nearer.  The  rain  came  down  in  broad,  heavy 
splashes,  followed  by  a  fierce,  pitiless  hail,  as  if  Heaven's 
anger  was  pursuing  them. 

Ame'lie  clung  to  Philibert.  She  thought  of  Francisca 
da  Rimini  clinging  to  Paolo  amidst  the  tempest  of 
wind  and  the  moving  darkness,  and  uttered  trt  niblingly 
the  words,  "Oh,  Pierre  I  what  an  omen.  .Shall  it  be  said 
of  us  as  of  them,  "  Amor  condnsst'  iioi  ad  una  i/iork  / " 
("Love  has  conducted  us  into  one  death.") 

"  God  grant  we  may  one  day  say  so,"  replied  he,  pressing 


t  ii 


3r8 


THE  CIIIEX  D'OR. 


ti. 


I 


her  to  his  bosom,  "when  we  have  earned  it  bv  a  lonir  life 
of  mutual  love  and  devotion.  But,  now,  cheer  up,  dar- 
ling ;  we  arc  home." 

The  canoes  pushed  madly  to  the  bank.  The  startled 
holiday  party  sprang  out ;  servants  were  there  to  help 
them.  All  ran  across  the  lawn  under  the  wildly  tossing 
trees,  and  in  a  few  moments,  before  the  stf)rm  could  over- 
take them  with  its  greatest  fury,  they  readied  the  Manor 
House,  and  were  safe  under  tiie  protection  of  its  strong 
and  hospitable  roof. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"  NO    SPEECH    OF   SILK   WILL   SERVE    YOUR    TURN." 

Angelique  Des  Meloises  was  duly  informed,  through 
the  sharp  espionage  of  Lizette,  as  to  what  had  become 
of  Le  Gardeur  after  that  memorable  night  of  contiict 
between  love  and  ambition,  when  she  rejected  the  offer 
of  his  hand,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  illusions  of  her 
imagination. 

Still  she  loved  Le  Gardeur,  with  such  love  as  she  was 
capable  of,  but  always  subordinate  to  her  selfish  vanity ; 
and  it  was  not  without  many  sharp  pangs  of  contrition  that 
she  remembered  the  cruel  rejection  of  one  whom  she  ad- 
mired and  was  proud  of  as  the  handsomest  and  most 
devoted  ot  all  men  who  had  sought  her  favor. 

She  was  sorr\,  vet  iiattered,  at  Lizette's  account  of  his 
conduct  at  theTaverne  de  Menut  ;  for  although  pleased  to 
think  that  Le  Gardeur  loved  her  to  the  point  of  self- 
destruction,  she  honestly  pitied  him,  and  felt,  or  thought 
she  felt,  that  she  could  sacrifice  anything,  except  herself, 
for  ills  sake. 

Angelique  pondered,  in  her  own  strange  fitful  way,  over 
Le  Gardeur.  She  had  no  thought  of  losing  him  wholly. 
She  would  continue  to  hold  him  in  her  silken  string  and 
keep  him  under  the  spell  of  her  fascinations.  She  still 
admired  him, — nay,  loved  him,  she  thought.  She  could 
not  help  doing  so  ;  and  if  she  could  not  help  it  where  was 


"NO  SPEECH  OF  S/LAT  ETC. 


319 


the  blame  ?  Slie  would  not,  to  be  sure,  sacrifice  for  him 
the  brilliant  hopes  which  danced  before  her  iniaij;ination 
like  fuc-tbes  in  a  summer  ni^^ht.  For  no  man  in  the  world 
would  she  do  that.  The  Royal  Intendant  was  the  mark 
she  aimed  at.  She  was  ready  to  :li;o  through  lire  and  water 
to  reach  that  goal  of  her  ambition.  JJut  if  she  gave  the 
Intendant  her  hand  it  was  enough  ;  it  was  all  she  could 
give  him,  but  not  the  smallest  corner  of  her  heart,  which 
she  acknowledged  to  herself  belonged  only  to  Le  Gard- 
eur  de  Repentigny. 

While  bent  on  accomplishing  this  scheme  by  every 
means  in  her  power  and  which  involved  necessarilv  the 
ruin  of  Le  Gardeur,  she  took  a  sort  of  perverse  pride  in 
enumerating  the  hundred  points  of  personal  and  moral 
su|)eriority  possessed  by  him  over  the  Intendant,  and  all 
others  of  her  admirers.  If  she  sacrificed  her  love  to  her 
ambition,  hating  herself  while  she  did  so,  it  was  a  sort  of 
satisfaction  to  think  that  Le  Garcleur's  sacrifice  was  not 
less  complete  than  her  own  ;  and  she  rather  felt  pleased 
with  the  reflection  that  his  heart  wcnild  be  broken  and 
no  other  woman  would  ever  fill  that  place  in  his  affections 
which  she  had  once  occupied. 

The  days  that  elapsed  after  their  final  int/rview  were 
days  of  vexation  to  Angelic|ue.  She  was  angry  with  herself, 
almost,  angry  with  Le  Gardeur  that  he  had  taken  her  at 
her  word,  and  still  more  angry  that  she  did  not  reap  the 
immediate  reward  of  her  treachery  against  her  own  heart. 
She  was  like  a  spoiled  and  wilful  child  which  will  neither 
have  a  thing  nor  let  it  go.  She  would  discard  her  lover 
and  still  retain  his  love  !  and  felt  irritated  and  e\en  jealous 
when  she  heard  of  his  departure  to  Tilly  with  his  sister, 
who  had  thus  apjjarently  more  influence  to  take  him  away 
from  the  city,  than  Angelique  had  to  keep  him  there. 

But  her  mind  was  especially  worked  upon  almost  to 
madness  by  the  ardent  jjrofessions  of  love,  with  the  careful 
avoidance  of  any  j^roposal  of  marriage  on  the  part  of  the 
Intendant.  She  had  received  his  daily  visits  with  a  deter- 
mination to  ])lease  and  fascinate  him.  She  had  dressed 
herself  with  elaborate  care  and  no  woman  in  New  France 
equalled  Angt'-lique  in  the  perfection  of  her  attire.  She 
studied  his  tastes  in  her  comersalion  and  demeanor,  which 
were  free  beyond  even  her  wont.  l)ecause  she  saw  that  a 
manner  bold  and  unconstrained  took  best  with  him.     An- 


Vi 


I 


M  ink 


320 


77//:  ciiiEiy  jyoR. 


gt'liqiie's  free  style  was  the  most  perfect  piece  of  acting  in 
the  world.  vShc  lau^died  loudly  at  his  wit,  and  heard  with- 
out blushes  Jiis  (ioubh  cntcntlrcs  and  coarse  jests,  not  less 
coarse  because  sjioken  in  the  polished  dialect  of  Paris. 
She  stood  iiali,  but  with  no  more  result  than  is  left  bv  a 
brilliant  display  of  fireworks  after  it  is  over.  She  could 
read  in  the  eager  looks  and  manner  of  the  Intendant  that 
she  had  fixed  his  admiration  and  stirred  his  jxassions,  but 
she  knew  by  a  no  less  sure  intuition  that  she  had  not,  with 
all  her  blandishments,  suggested  to  his  mind  one  serious 
thought  of  marriage. 

In  vain  she  reverted  to  the  subject  of  matrimony,  in 
apparent  jest  but  secret  eari.cst.  '1  he  Intendant,  quick 
witted  as  herself  would  accept  the  challenge,  talk  with  her 
and  caracole  on  the  topic  which  she  had  caparisoned  so 
gayly  for  him,  and  amid  comijliments  and  pleasantries,  ride 
away  from  the  jioint,  she  knew  not  whither!  Then  Ange- 
lique  would  be  angry  after  his  departure,  and  swear,  she 
could  swear  shockingly  for  a  lady  when  she  was  angry  !  and 
vow  she  would  marry  Le  Gardeur  after  all  !  but  her  pride 
was  stung,  not  her  love.  No  man  had  ever  defeated  her 
when  she  chose  to  subdue  him,  neither  should  this  jjroud 
Intendant !  So  Angelique  collected  her  scattered  forces 
again,  and  laid  closer  siege  to  Bigot  than  ever. 

The  great  ball  at  the  Palais  had  been  the  object  of 
absorbing  interest  to  the  fashionable  society  of  the  Cajoital 
for  many  weeks.  It  came  on  at  last,  turning  the  heads  of 
half  the  city  with  its  splendor  which  was  remembered  a 
score  of  years  after  when  faded  dames  and  powdered 
dowagers  recounted  with  nodding  heads  to  their  daugh- 
ters, nieces  and  grand-daughters  the  great  events  of  their 
youthful  prime  under  tlie  old  regime,  when  ihey  had  the 
honor  of  dancing  courtly  minuets  and  lively  cotillions  with 
the  gay  Intendant  Bigot.  The  old  ladies  never  wearied  of 
repeating  with  the  natural  exaggerations  of  vanity  and  the 
garrulity  of  old  age,  all  the  compliments  he  had  paid 
their  grace  and  beauty.  More  than  one  ancient  dowager 
used  to  tell  how  at  her  first  presentation  at  the  Palace  of 
the  Intendant,  Bigot  had  embraced  her,  as  the  fashion  at 
Court  then  was,  and  clasping  her  slender  waist  witii  fcnir 
fingers  exclaimed  inecstacy:  "  What  a  pretty  handful  of 
brunette!  "  or  "What  a  charming  span  round  of  blonde  !  " 

The  daughters  and  grand  daughters  of  the  old  regime, 


"AV  sPEECJi  or  S/i.A'r  K 


321 


laughed,  winked  and  did  not  wonder  ih  it  the  1  idies  of  the 
old  times  were  in  such  ecstacies  at  the  L;ailanti"v  of  the 
Intendant  and  ahnost  ready  to  kill  one  another  with  en\y 
and  riv.dry  for  his  o;ood  i^races  ! 

Nor  tlid  the  memory  of  the  old  dowaj^ers  fail  to  re. -all 
the  names  of  the  f^entlemen  who  were  piesent  at  tiiis 
famous  Ikill  of  the  Palais.  Rich  associates  of  the  (i  1;  ! 
Company,  each  one  worth  his  millions,  ami  how  the  t;i  Is 
strugi^led  for  them  and  pulled  caps,  so  that  even  the  hu  ich- 
back,  Sieur  Maurin,  whose  hunch  was  said  to  be  mad.:  of 
gold,  was  carried  otT  by  the  prettiest  girl  in  St.  Rf)ch  t  >  the 
despair  of  a  score  of  rivals!  and  the  Sieur  dePenisiiilt 
who  married  so  charming  and  complaisant  a  wife  thai  .ilu 
consented  to  be  sold  to  the  Chevalier  de  Le'vis  to  save  tiu 
incomparable  fortune  of  her  husband  from  c  )nt"iscati;)!i  ! 
The  King's  ofiicers  of  both  armv  and  navv  were  not  f  t- 
gotten  at  the  great  ball,  .md  their  laced  co.its,  silk  slok- 
ings,  buckles  and  goid  epaulettes  fiirnishi;d  fertile  sulijeois 
for  hours  of  exposition  to  the  narrators  of  tlie  s])lend  )r  of 
former  times  when  gav  Versailles  and  not  dull  St.  I  imjs 
set  the  fashions  for  New  France. 

"The  Bourgeoisie  were  not  permitted  in  those  hi;!i 
caste  days  as  now,"  saitl  Madame  de  G  andmaison,  "to 
tread  upon  the  skirts  of  the  noblesse .'  but  had  to  cf)ntent 
themselves  with  seats  in  the  great  gallery  which  ran  roun  1 
the  ball  room  of  the  Palais,  where  they  coulcl  look  dowp 
with  admiration  and  erivy,  upon  the  gav  scjtie.  and  feast 
their  longing  eyes  upon  the  enchanting  enjoyments  of  their 
betters  ! '' 

Ang*'lique  shone  the  acknowledged  Queen  of  the  Inten- 
clant's  ball.  Her  natural  grace  and  beauty  set  oil  bv  \\\t 
exquisite  taste  and  richness  of  her  attire  threw  into  eclipse 
the  fairest  of  her  rivals.  If  there  was  one  present  who  in 
admiration  of  her  own  charms,  claimed  for  herself  the  first 
jjlace,  she  freely  conceded  to  Angelique  the  second.  Ikit 
Angclique  feared  no  rival  there.  Her  only  fear  was  at 
Beaumanoir.  She  was  profoundly  conscious  of  her  own 
superiority  to  all  present,  while  she  relished  the  envy  and 
jealousy  wdiich  it  created.  She  cared  but  little  what  the 
women  thought  of  her  and  boldlv  challenging  the  homage 
of  the  men  obtained  it  as  her  rightful  due. 

Still  uiuler  the  gav  smiles  and  livelv  badinage  which 
she  showered    on  all  around  as  she  moved    through    the 

21 


322 


THE  CIIIEIV  D'OR. 


brillinnt  tlironcc,  .\ii;^('liquc  fell  a  biltcr  spirit  of  discon- 
tent laiiklini^  in  iicr  bosom.  Slic  was  aii_^iy  and  she  knew 
why,  and  still  more  ani;ry  because  upon  herself  lay  the 
blame!  Not  that  she  blamed  herself  lor  havin<^  rejected 
Le  G  irdeur  ;  she  had  done  that  delii)erately  and  for  a  |)rice  ; 
but  the  price  was  not  yet  j^aid  !  and  she  had  sonietin'jes 
quahns  of  doubt  whether  it  would  ever  be  paid  ! 

She  who  had  had  her  own  way  with  all  men,  now  en- 
countered a  man  who  sjjoke  and  looked  like  one  who  had 
had  his  own  way  with  all  women,  and  who  meant  to  have 
his  own  way  with  her  ! 

She  ^azed  often  upon  the  face  of  \Sv^oX.  and  the  more 
she  looked,  the  more  inscrutable  it  appeared  to  her.  She 
tried  to  sound  the  dt-pihs  of  his  thoui^hts,  but  her  enquiry 
was  like  the  dro]>pinL;"  of  a  stor.e  into  the  bottomless  pit  of 
that  deep  cavern  of  the  dark  and  bloody  ^i^round  talked  of 
by  adventurous  voyageurs,  from  the  far  West.  It  went 
down  and  down,  reverberating  fainter  and  fainter  as  it 
descended,  and  never  struck  the  bottom.  Equallv  futile 
was  An,<;cli(iue's  questioninLjof  the  mind  of  l)ii:;ot.  Under  a 
glare  of  comi)liments  and  Hattery,  lay  a  dark  unfathomable 
abyss  of  hidden  purposes  which  defied  her  utmost  scrutiny. 
She  did  well,  she  thought,  to  be  angry  and.  to  nourish  des 
perate  schemes  in  her  heart. 

That  Bigot  admired  her  beyond  all  other  women,  at  the 
ball,  was  visil)le  enough  from  the  marked  attention  which 
he  lavished  upon  her  and  the  courtly  flatteries  that  flowed 
like  honey  from  his  lips.  She  also  read  her  preeminence 
in  his  favor  from  the  jealous  eyes  of  a  host  of  rivals 
who  watched  her  every  movement.  Jkit  Angvlique  felt 
that  the  adiuiration  af  the  Intendant  was  not  of  that  kind 
which  had  driven  so  many  men  mad  for  her  sake.  She 
knew  Bigot  would  ne\er  go  mad  for  her,  much  as  he  was 
fascinated  !  and  why  ?  why  ? 

Angelique,  while  listening  to  his  honied  flatteries  as  In* 
led  her  gayly  through  the  ball  i-oom,  asked  herself  again 
and  again  :  "why  did  he  carefully  avoid  the  one  topic  that 
filled  her  thougiUs  or  spoke  of  it  only  in  his  mocking  man- 
ner which  tortured  her  to  madness  with  doubt  and  per- 
plexity ?" 

As  she  leaned  on  the  arm  of  the  courtlv  Intendant, 
laughing  like  one  possessed  with  the  very  s|)irit  of  gayety, 
at  his  sallies  and  jests,  her  mind  was  torn  with  bitter  com- 


".VO  SPEECH  OF  SILKT  ETC. 


323 


parisons  as  she  remembered  Le  (iardeur,  his  handsome 
face  and  his  transparent  achniration  so  full  of  love  and 
ready  for  any  sacrifice  for  her  sake,  and  she  liad  cast  it  all 
away  for  this  inscrutable  volupluary  !  a  man  who  had  no 
respect  for  women,  but  who  admired  her  person,  condes- 
cended to  be  pleased  with  it,  and  affected  to  be  caught  by 
the  lures  she  iK-ld  out  to  liim,  but  which  she  felt  would  be 
of  no  more  avail  to  hold  iiim  fist,  than  the  threads  which 
a  S|)ider  throws  from  bush  to  bush  on  a  summer  morn  will 
hold  fast  a  bird  which  Jliis  athwart  them. 

The  gayest  of  the  gay  to  all  outward  appearance,  An- 
gelique  missed  sorely  the  presence  of  Le  (iardeur,  and  she 
resented  his  absence  from  the  ball,  as  a  slight  and  a  wrong 
to  her  sovereignly  which  never  released  a  lover  from  his 
allegiance. 

The  fair  demoiselles  at  the  Ball  less  resolutely  ambi- 
tious than  Angelique,  found  by  degrees  in  the  devotion  of 
other  cavaliers,  ample  comi)ensation  for  only  so  much  of 
the  Intendant's  fa\or  as  he  liberally  bestowed  on  all  the 
sex.  But  that  did  not  content  Angelique,  she  looked  with 
sharpest  eyes  of  inquisition  upon  the  bright  glances  which 
now  and  then  shot  across  the  room  where  she  sat  by  the 
side  of  Bigot,  aj)parently  steeped  in  happiness  but  with  a 
serpent  biting  at  her  heart  for  she  felt  that  Bigot  was  really 
unimpressible  as  a  stone,  under  her  most  subtle  manipu- 
lation. 

Her  thoughts  ran  in  a  round  of  ceaseless  repetition  of 
the  question  : — ''  \\'hy  can  I  not  subdue  Francois  Bigot  as 
I  have  subdued  every  other  man  who  exposed  his  weak 
side  to  my  power.''  "  and  Angc'lique  pressed  her  foot  hard 
upon  the  iloor  as  the  answer  returned  e\er  the  same.  '"The 
heart  of  the  Intendant  is  away  at  Ileaumanoir  !  'I'hat  jiale 
pensive  lady,''  (Angelique  used  a  more  coarse  and  ejnpha- 
tic  word,)  '■■  stands  between  him  and  me  !  like  a  spectre  as 
she  is,  and  obstructs  the  path  I  'ave  sacrificed  so  much 
to  enter ! " 

"  I  cannot  endure  the  heat  of  the  ballroom,  Bigot !  " 
said  Angelique  \  "  I  will  dance  no  more  to  night!  I  would 
rather  sit  and  catch  ih-eflies  on  the  terrace  than  chase  for- 
ever without  overt  iking  it  the  bird  that  has  escaped 
from  my  bosom  !  "  The  Intendant  ever  attentive  to  her 
wishes,  offered  his  arm  to  lead  her  into  the  pleached  walks 
of  the  illuminated  garden.    Angelique  rose,  gathered  up  her 


ii"i 


it 


324 


7'//F.  ClIIEX  D'OR. 


rich  train,  and  with  an  air  of  Royal  coquetry  took  his  arm 
and  accompanied  the  Intendant  on  a  promenatle  down  the 
grand  aMcy  of  roses. 

"  What  favorite  bird  has  escaped  from  your  bosom, 
AnpjeHcine?"  asked  the  Intenchint,  wiio  had,  iiowever,  a 
shrewd  guess  of  the  meaning;  of  her  nielajihor. 

"  The  pleasure  I  had  in  anticipation  of  tliis  ball  !  the 
bird  has  flown,  I  know  not  where  or  how.  I  have  no  pleasure 
here  at  all  !"  exclaimed  she,  petulantly,  allhou!j;h  slie  knew 
the  ball  had  b-en  really  j^ot  up  mainly  for  her  own  pleasure. 

"And  yet  Momus  himself  mii,du  have  been  your  father, 
and  Euphrosyne  your  mother,  Anj^elique,"  replied  Bi,;^)t, "  to 
jutlge  by  your  ii^ayely  to  nii^hl.  If  you  Ikivl'  no  pleasure,  it  is 
because  you  have  given  it  all  away  to  others !  But  1  h  ive 
cauLrht  the  bird  vou  lost,  let  me  restore  it  to  vour  bosom 
pray!"  He  laid  his  hand  lightly  and  caressingly  upon 
her  arm,  her  bosom  was  beating  wildly,  she  removed  his 
hand  and  held  it  fn  inly  grasped  in  her  own, 

"Chevalier!"  said  she,  "the  pleasure  of  a  king  is  in 
the  loyalty  of  his  subjects,  the  pleasure  of  a  woman  in  the 
fidelity  of  her  lover  ! "  She  was  going  to  say  more,  but  stop- 
ped. But  she  gave  him  a  glance  which  insinuated  more 
than  all  she  left  unsaid. 

Bigot  smiled  lo  himself :  "  Angelique  is  jealous  !  "  thought 
he,  but  he  only  remarked,  "That  is  an  aphorism  which  I 
believe  with  all  my  heart  !  If  the  pleasure  of  a  woman  be 
in  the  fidelity  of  her  lover,  I  know  no  one  who  should  be 
more  happy  than  Angel itjue  des  Meloises  I  No  lady  in 
New  France,  has  a  right  to  claim  greater  devotion  from  a 
lover  and  no  one  receives  it !  " 

"  But  I  have  no  faith  in  the  iidelity  of  my  lover  !  and  I  am 
not  happy.  Chevalier!  far  from  it!"  replied  she,  with  one 
of  those  impulsive  speeches  that  seemed  frankness  itself, 
but  in  this  woman  were  artful  to  a  degree. 

"  Why  so?  "  replied  he,  "  pleasure  will  never  leave  you 
Angelique,  unless  you  wilfully  chase  it  away  from  your 
side  !  All  women  envy  your  beauty,  all  men  struggle  to 
obtain  your  smiles.  For  myself  1  would  gather  all  the 
joys  and  treasures  of  the  world,  and  lay  them  at  your  feet, 
would  you  let  me  !  " 

"  I  do  not  hinder  you.  Chevalier!"  replied  she  with  a 
laugh  of  incredulity,  "  but  you  do  not  do  it !  It  is  only  your 
politeness  to  say  that !  I  have  told  you  that  the  pleasure  of  a 


mmmmmm 


"  NO  SPEECH  OF  silk;'  etc. 


325 


woman  is  in  the  fidelity  of  l)er  lover,  tell  nie  now,  Chevalier 
wluil  is  the  highest  pleasure  of  a  man  ?  " 

"  The  beauty  and  condescension  of  his  mistress  !  at 
least  I  know  none  greater."  lii;;ol  looked  at  her  as  if  his 
speech  ou;;iU  to  receive  acknowledgment  on  the  spot. 

"  And  it  is  your  politeness  to  say  that  also  !  Chevalier  I  " 
replied  she,  very  coolly. 

'*  I  wish  I  could  say  of  your  condescension,  Anj^eliquc, 
what  I  have  said  of  your  beauty;  P'ran<j;ois  Bij^ot  would 
then  feel  the  hiL;ht'st  pleasure  of  a  man."  The  Intendant 
onl}'  half  knew  tiie  woman  he  was  seeking  to  deceive.  She 
got  angry. 

Angeliqne  looked  up  with  a  scornful  flash  !  "  My  con- 
descension, Chevalier?  to  what  have  I  not  condescended 
on  the  faith  of  \'our  solemn  liiomise  that  the  ladv  of 
Beaumanoir  should  notremiin  under  your  rof)f  ?  She  is 
still  there  !  Chevalier  !   in  spite  of  your  promise  !  " 

Bigot  was  on  the  ]ioint  of  denying  the  fact,  but  there 
was  sharpness  in  Angi'li([ue"s  tone  anrl  clearness  of  all 
doubt  in  hei  eyes,  lie  saw  he  would  gain  nothing  by 
denial. 

"  She  knows  the  whole  secret,  I  do  believe  !  "  muttered 
he.  '•  Aigus  with  his  hundred  eves  was  a  blind  man  com- 
pared  to  a  woman's  two  eyes  sharpened  by  jealousy." 

"  The  Lady  of  Beaumanoir  accuses  me  of  no  sin.  that 
I  repent  of!  "  replietl  he.  "True  !  I  promised  to  send  her 
away,  and  so  I  will  ;  but  she  is  a  wt)man,  a  lady,  who  has 

were   vour  case, 


If  it 


claims  upon  me  for  gentle  usage. 
Angelique — " 

Angelique  quitted  his  arm  and  stood  confronting  him, 
flaming  with  indignation.  She  did  not  let  him  tinish  his 
sentence.  ''  If  it  were  my  case,  Bigot !  as  if  that  could  ever 
be  my  case,  and  you  alive  to  speak  of  it  !  " 

Bigot  stepped  backwards.  He  was  not  sure  but  a 
poniard  glittered  in  the  clenched  hand  of  Ange'lique;  It 
was  but  the  flash  of  her  diamond  rings  as  she  lifted  it 
suddenly.      She  almost  struck  him. 

"  Do  not  blame  me  for  infidelities  committed  before 
I  knew  you,  Angelicjue  I  "  said  he,  seizing  her  hand  which 
he  held  forcibly  in  his  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  wrench  it 
away.  "It  is  my  nature  to  wcjrship  beauty  at  every  sh'ine. 
I  have  done  so  until  I  found  the  concentration  of  all  my 
divaiities  in  you.     1  could  not,  if  I  would,  be  unfaithful  to 


*l» 


^f :; 


li 


i 


326 


77//r  cm  EN  noR. 


you,  Anfjclitlue  dcs  Mcloiscs  !  "  Rijjjot  wasa  firm  believer  in 
the  classical  faitli  ;  thai  Jove  laii;;lis  at  lovers'  perjuries. 

"  Von  inock  nic,  lliLjot  I  "  replii-d  she.  "  You  are  the  only 
man  wiio  has  ever  dared  to  do  so  twiii'." 

"  When  did  I  mock  you  twice,  Angelique  ?  "  asked  he 
with  an  air  of  injured  innocence. 

"  Now  !  and  when  you  jiledi^ed  yourself  to  remove  the 
Ladv   of    Heauinanoir   fron^    vour  house.      1  admire    your 

■<  '  ^ 

coura<::e,  JJi^^ot,  in  playinijj  false  with  me  and  still  hopinjj;  to 
win!  J)Ut  never  speak  to  me  more  of  love  while  that  pale 
spectre  haunts  the  secret  chambers  of  the  chateau  !  " 

"  She  shall  he  removed,  An;_ieli(|ue,  since  you  insist 
upon  it,"  replied  he,  secretly  irritated,  "but  where  is  the 
harm  .-*  I  ])ledt;e  my  faith  she  shall  not  stand  in  the  way  of 
my  love  for  you." 

*'  Better  she  were  dead  than  do  so  !  "  whispered 
An,L:;c'lique  to  herself.  "  It  is  my  (Xwn^  llii^Dt  !  "  reiilied  she 
aloud,  "  you    know  what  1    have  j^iven  up  for  your  sake  !  " 

"Yes!  1  know  you  have  banished  Le  Gardeur  de 
Repentigny  when  it  had  been  better  to  keep  him  securely 
in  the  ranks  of  theClraiul  Compan\-.  Why  did  you  refuse 
to  marry  him,  AnL;e!i(|ue  ?  " 

The  question  fairly  choked  her  with  anj^er.  "  Why  did 
I  refuse  to  marry  him  ?  Francois  Bigot!  Do  you  ask  me 
seriously  that  question?  Did  you  :iOt  tell  me  of  your  own 
love  and  all  but  olTer  me  vour  hand  ?  {jiving  me  to  under- 
stand,  miserable  sinner  that  you  are,  or  as  you  think  me  to 
be  !  that  you  pledged  your  own  faith  to  me,  as  first  in 
your  choice,  and  I  ha\e  done  that  which  1  had  better  have 
been  dead  and  buried  with  the  heaviest  pyramid  of  Mgypt 
on  top  of  me,  buried  without  hope  of  resurrection,  than 
have  done  !  " 

Bigot  accustomed  as  he  was  to  woman's  upbraidings, 
scarcely  knew  what  to  reply  to  this  passionate  outburst. 
He  Jiad  spoken  to  her  words  of  hne,  plenty  of  them,  but 
the  idea  of  marriage  had  not  Hashed  across  his  mind  for  a 
moment  ;  not  a  word  of  that  had  escaped  his  lips.  He  had 
as  little  guessed  the  height  of  Angelique's  ambition  as  she 
the  depths  of  his  craft  and  wickedness,  and  yet  there 
was  a  wonderful  similarity  between  the  characters  of 
both,  the  same  bold  defiant  spirit,  the  same  inordinate 
ambition,  the  same  void  of  principle  in  selecting  means 
to  ends  ;  only  the  one  fascinated  with  the  lures  of  love,  the 


"iVO  SPEECH  OF  SlLhT  ETC. 


327 


he 


other  by  the  charms  of  wit,  the  temptations  of  money,  or 
elTectL'(l  his  i)iiri)o^cs  by  tiic  roii^li  applicilion  of  force. 

'•  Vou  call  me  rightly  a  luisiMable  sinner,"  said  he,  half 
smilini^f,  as  one  not  very  nuserable  aIlhou,:;h  x  sinner.  "  If 
love  of  fair  women  be  a  sin,  I  am  one  of  the  greatest  of 
sinners  !  ami  in  your  f.iir  presence,  An:^Jli(|ue,  \  am  sinning 
at  this  moment,  enough  to  sink  a  shipload  ot  saints  and 
angels." 

"You  have  sunk  me  in  my  own  and  the  world's  estima- 
tion if  you  mean  what  you  say.  Bigot  !  "  re|)lied  she  unconsci- 
ously tearing  in  strips  the  fm  she  held  in  iier  hand.  '*  You 
](ne  all  women  lo)  well  ever  to  be  cap  d)le  of  fixing  your 
heart  upon  one  !  "  A  tear,  of  vexation  |)erliaps,  stood  in  her 
angrv  eve  as  she   said   this,  and  her  cheek    twitched   with 


fierce 


emotion. 


C 


ome,  Angelujue  !   '  said  he  soothingly,  "  some  o 


f  our 


guests  have  entered  this  alley.  Let  us  walk  d  )wn  to  the 
terrace.  'I'he  moon  is  shining  bright  over  the  broad  1  iver, 
and  I  will  swear  to  you  by  St.  I'icaut,  my  patron,  whom  I 
never  deceive,  that  my  love  for  all  wom  in  kind  has  not 
hindered  me  from  fixing  my  supreme   affection  upon  you." 

Ang('li(|ue  allowed  him  lo  press  her  hand,  which  he  did 
with  fervor.  She  almost  believed  his  words.  She  could 
scarcely  imagine  another  woman  seriously  preferred  to  her- 
self, when  she  chose  to  jlatler  a  man  with  a  belief  of  her 
own  preference  for  him. 

They  walked  down  a  long  alley  brilliantly  illuminated 
with  lamps  of  JJohemian  glass  which  shone  like  the  dia- 
monds, rubies  and  emeralds  which  grew  u[)on  the  ircjs  in 
the  garden  of  Alacklin. 

At  every  angle  of  the  geometrically  cut  paths  of  hard 
beaten  sei  shells,  white  as  snow,  stood  the  statue  of  a  faun, 
a  nymph  or  dryad  in  Parian  marble,  holding  a  torch,  which 
illumiiii  .'d  a  great  vase  running  over  with  fresh  blooming 
flowers  piesenting  a  vista  of  royal  magnificence  which  l)ore 
testimony  to  the  wealth  and  sjilendid  tastes  of  the  Intend- 
ant. 

The  garden  walks  were  not  deserted,  their  beauty  drew 
out  many  a  couple  who  sauntered  nurrily,  or  lovingly  down 
the  pleached  avenues,  which  looked  like  the  corridors  of  a 
gorgeously  decorated  palace. 

Bigot  and  Angelique  moved  among  the  guests,  receiving 
as  they  [lassed  obse(|uious  salulalions,  which  to  Angelique 
seemed  a  foretaste  of  royalty.     She  had  seen  the  gardens 


t 


I 


I 


328 


THE  CIIIEX  DOR. 


of  the  Palais  many  limes  before,  but  never  illuminrilcu  as 
now.  The  siiilit  of  lliem  so  li^randly  decorated  filled  her 
with  admir;ition  (jf  their  (jwner,  and  slie  resolved  that  cost 
what  it  would,  the  lioinaj^e  paid  to  her  to-night,  as  the  part- 
ner of  the  Jntendant,  should  become  hers  by  right  on  his 
hearthstone  as  the  tirst  ladv  in  New  France. 

Angc'liciue  threw  back  her  veil  that  ail  might  i^ee  her, 
that  the  women  miglit  envy  and  the  men  admire  her,  as  she 
leaned  conlidingly  on  the  arm  of  iiigot,  looking  up  in  his 
face  with  that  wonderful  smile  of  hers  which  had  brought 
so  many  men  to  ruin  at  her  feet  and  talking  with  such 
enchantment  as  no  woman  could  talk  but  Angc'lique  des 
Meloises. 

Well  understanding  that  her  onlv  road  to  success  was 
to  com|)letely  fascinate  the  Intendant,  she  bent  herself  to 
the  task  with  sucli  power  of  witchery  and  such  simulation 
of  real  passion,  tliat  Uigot,  wary  and  experienced  gladiator 
as  he  was  in  tiie  arena  of  love,  was  more  than  once  brought 
to  tile  brink  of  a  proposal  for  her  hand. 

Slie  watclied  every  movement  of  his  features,  at  these 
critical  moments  wlien  he  seemed  just  falling  into  the 
snares  so  artfully  set  for  him.  \.hen  slie  caught  his  eyes 
glowing  with  passionate  admiration,  slie  shyly  affected  to 
witiidraw  them  from  his  gaze,  turning  on  hiin  at  times 
fiaslies  of  her  dark  eves  which  electrified  e\erv  nerve  of 
his  sensuous  nature.  She  felt  the  pressure  of  his  hand, 
the  changed  and  softened  inflections  of  his  voice,  she  knew 
the  words  of  her  fate  were  trembling  on  his  lips,  and  yet 
they  did  not  come!  The  shadow  of  that  pale  hand  at 
lieaumanoir,  weak  and  delicate  as  it  was,  seemed  to  lay 
itself  upon  iiis  lips,  when  about  to  speak  to  her,  and  snatch 
away  the  words  which  Angelique,  trembling  with  anticipa- 
tion, was  ready  to  barter  away  body  and  soul  to  hear 
spoken. 

In  a  shaly  passage  through  a  thick  greenery  where  the 
lights  were  dimmer  and  no  one  was  near,  she  allowed  his 
arm  for  a  niomeiu  ^o  encircle  her  yielding  form,  and  she 
knew  by  his  quick  breath  tliat  the  words  were  moulded  in 
his  thoughts,  \\\\([  were  on  tlie  point  to  rush  ft)rth  in  a  tor- 
rent of  speecli.  Still  they  came  not,  and  lligot  again,  to 
her  unutterable  disgust,  sliied  off  like  a  full-blooded  horse 
which  starts  suddenly  away  from  some  object  by  the  way- 
side and  throws  liis  ridrr  headlong  on  the  ground.  So  again 
were  dashed  the  arlc'U  e  .pL^Miiious  (,f   Angelique. 


"NO  SPEECH  OF  silk;'  etc. 


329 


She  listei.C'd  t(i  the  jrallant  and  jxay  speeches  of  r>ij;ot, 
which  sccniecl  to  Mutter  Uke  birds  round  lier,  l)ut  ne\er  Ht 
on  the  ground  where  she  had  spread  her  net  like  a  crafty 
fowler  as  slie  was,  until  she  went  almost  mad  with  sup- 
pressed an<;er  and  passionate  excitement,  liut  she  kept 
on  replyinii;  with  badina<;e  lii;ht  as  his  own,  and  with  lau<;h- 
tcr  so  soft  and  silvery,  that  it  seemed  a  j^entle  dew  from 
heaven,  instead  of  the  drift  and  livinir  foam  of  the  storm 
that  was  ragin<;jin  her  bosom. 

She  read  and  re-read  ijlimpses  of  his  hidden  thoughts 
that  went  and  came  like  faces  in  a  dream,  and  she  saw  in 
her  imai;ination  the  dark  pleadinuj  eyes  and  j^ale  face  of 
the  hidy  of  IJeaumanoir.  It  came  now  like  a  revelation, 
confirminjj^  a  thousand  suspicions  that  Jiigot  loved  that 
pale,  sad  face  too  well,  cer  to  marry  An^c'lique  des  Mel- 
oises  while  its  possessor  lived  at  l>eaumanoir — or  while  she 
lived  at  all  ! 

And  it  came  to  that  !  In  this  walk  with  Biij^ot  round 
the  glorious  garden,  wi(hC]o(rs  (lowers  shedding  fragrance 
around  them  ;  with  God's  stars  shining  oxerhead  above  all 
the  glitter  and  illusion  of  the  thousand  lamps,  Angeli(iue 
repeated  to  herself  the  terrific  words,  "  liigot  loves  that 
pale,  sad  face  too  well  ever  to  marry  me,  while  its  possess- 
or lives  at  IJeaumanoir — or  while  she  lives  at  all  !  " 

The  thought  haunted  her!  It  would  not  leave  her  ! 
She  leaned  heavily  ujion  his  arm,  as  she  swept  like  a  cjueen 
of  Cyprus  through  the  llower-bordered  walks,  brushing  the 
roses  and  lilies  with  her  proud  train  and  treading  with  as 
dainty  a  foot  as  ever  bewitched  human  eye,  the  white 
paths  that  led  back  to  the  grand  terrace  of  the  palace. 

Her  fevered  imagination  j)layed  tricks  in  keeping  with 
her  fear.  More  than  once  she  fancied  she  saw  the  shadowy 
form  of  a  beautiful  woman  walking  on  the  other  side  of 
Bigot  next  his  heart  !  it  was  the  form  of  Caroline  bearing  a 
child  in  one  arm  and  claiming  by  that  supreme  appeal  to 
a  man's  heart,  the  first  place  in   his  affections. 

'I'he  figure  sometimes  vanished,  sometimes  reappeared 
in  the  same  place,  and  once  and  the  last  lime  assumed  the 
figure  and  look  of  Our  Lady  of  St.  l*"oye,  triumphant  after  a 
thousand  sulTerings,  and  still  e\er  bearing  the  face  and 
look  of  the  ladv  of  lieaumanoii'. 

Emerging  at  lasi  from  the  dim  avenue  into  the  full  light, 
where  a  fountain  sent  up  showers  of  sparkling  crsstals.  the 
figure    vanished    and   Angelique  sat  down  on  a    cjuainily 


i 

I 


M 


- 


Ml      i 


I?-  : 


33"^ 


THE  CHI  EN  n  OR. 


carved  scat  uikIci-  a  mountain  ash,  very  tired  and  profound- 
ly vexed  at  ail  tiiin^^s  and  witli  everyl^ody. 

A  servant  in  f;or<jjcous  livery  brought  a  message  from 
the  ball-room  to  the  Intendant. 

lie  was  summoned  for  a  dance,  but  he  would  not  leave 
Angelic[ue,  he  said.  But  Angelique  begged  for  a  short  rest. 
"  It  was  so  jjlcasant  in  the  garden.''  She  would  remain 
by  the  fountain.  "  She  liked  its  sparkling  and  splashing,  it 
refreshed  her  ;  the  Intendant  could  come  for  her  in  half  an 
hour  ;  she  wanted  to  be  alone  ;  she  felt  in  a  hard,  unamia- 
blc  mood,"  she  said,  "  and  he  only  made  lier  worse  by  stop- 
]Mng  with  her  when  others  wanted  him,  and  he  wanted 
others  !  " 

The  Intendant  protf;sted  in  terms  of  the  warmest 
gallantry,  that  he  would  not  leave  her,  but  seeing  Angelique 
really  desired  at  the  present  moment  to  be  alone,  and 
reflecting  that  he  was  himself  sacrificing  too  much  for  the 
sake  of  one  Goddess,  while  a  hundred  others  were  adorned 
and  waiting  for  his  offerings  he  promised  in  half  an  hour 
to  return  for  her  to  this  spot  by  the  fountain,  and  proceeded 
towards  the  Palace. 

Angelique  sat  watching  the  play  and  sparkle  of  the 
fountain  which  she  compared  to  her  own  vain  exertions  to 
fascinate  the  Intendant,  and  thought  that  her  efforts  had 
been  just  as  brilliant  and  just  as  futile. 

She  was  sadly  perplexed.  There  was  a  depth  in 
Bigot's  character  which  she  coukl  not  fathom,  a  bottomless 
abyss  into  which  she  was  falling  and  couid  not  save  her- 
self. \Vhiche\'er  way  she  turned  the  eidolon  of  Caroline 
met  her  as  a  bar  to  all  further  proLrress  in  her  design  upon 


the  Intendant. 

The  dim  half  vision  of  Caroline  which  she  had  seen  in 
the  pleached  walk  she  knew  was  only  the  shad(nv  and  pro- 
jection of  her  own  thoughts,  a  brooding  fancy  which  she 
had  unconsciously  conjured  up  into  the  form  of  her  hated 


rival. 


The  addition  of  the  child   was  the  creation  of  the 


deep  and  jealous  imaginings  which  had  often  crossed  her 
mind.  She  thought  of  that  yet  unborn  j^ledge  of  a  once 
mutual  affection  as  the  secret  spell  by  which  CJaroline,  pale 
and  feeble  as  she  was,  still  held  the  heart  of  the  Intendant 
in  some  sort  of  allegiance. 

"It  is  that  vile,  weak  thing  I  "  said  she  bitterly  and 
angrily  to  herself,  '*  which  is  stronger  than  I.  It  is  by 
thai  she  excites  his  pity  and  pity  draws  after  it  the  renewal 


''NO  SPEECH  OP  Sri.KT  ETC. 


ZZ"^ 


of  bis  love.  If  the  hope  of  what  is  not  yet,  be  so  potent 
with  I>ii;ot,  \vh;it  will  not  the  reilily  prove  ere  lon^  ?  The 
annihilation  of  all  my  brilliant  anticipations  !  I  have 
drawn  a  blank  in  life's  lottery,  by  the  rejection  of  Le  Gar- 
deur  for  his  sake  !  It  is  the  hand  of  that  shadowy  babe 
which  plncks  away  the  words  of  proposal  from  the  li|)s  of 
Bij^ot,  which  gives  his  love  to  its  vile  mother,  and  leaves  to 
me  the  mere  ashes  of  his  passion,  words  which  mean  nodiin;j^, 
which  will  never  mean  anything  but  insult  to  Angelique 
dcs  Meloises,  so  long  as  that  woman  li\'es  to  claim  the 
hand  which  but  for  her  would  be  mine  !  " 

Dark  fancies  fluttered  across  the  mind  of  Angelique 
during  the  absence  of  the  Intendant.  They  came  like  a  liight 
of  birds  of  evil  omen,  ravens,  choughs  and  owls,  the  em- 
bodiments of  wicked  thoughts.  Ikit  such  thouglits  suited 
her  mood  and  she  neither  chid  nor  banished  them,  but  let 
ihem  light  and  brood  and  hatch  fresh  mischief  in  her  soul. 

She  looked  up  to  see  who  was  laughing  so  merrily  while 
she  was  so  angry  and  so  sad,  and  beheld  the  Intendant 
jesting  and  toying  with  a  cluster  of  laughing  girls  who  had 
caught  him  at  the  turn  of  the  broad  stair  of  the  Terrace. 
They  kept  him  there  in  utter  oljlivion  of  Angelique  ! 
Not  that  she  cared  for  his  presence  at  that  moment  or  felt 
angry,  as  she  would  have  done  at  a  neglect  of  Le  Gardeur, 
but  it  was  one  proof  among  a  thousand  others,  that  gallant 
and  gay  as  he  was  among  the  throng  of  fair  guests  who 
were  flattering  and  tempting  him  on  every  side,  not  one  of 
them,  herself  included,  could  feel  sure  she  had  made  an 
impression  lasting  longer  than  the  present  moment  upon 
the  heart  of  the  Intendant. 

The  company  had  for  the  most  part  left  the  garden  to 
assemble  again  in  the  brilliant  ballroom,  where  louder  as 
the  spirit  of  gavcty  waxed  higher,  rose  the  volujjtuous 
strains  of  the  orcliestra,  j^ouring  out  from  its  high  gallery 
as  from  a  volcano  of  harmony,  the  ravishing  airs  of  Lulli 
and  Destouches  while  the  figures  of  the  dancers  glanced  to 
and  fro  past  the  windows  of  the  ball-room,  which  opened 
broad  and  evenly  upon  the  Terrace. 

Ikit  Bigot  had  neither  forgotten  Angelique  nor  himself. 
His  wily  s|)irit  was  contriving  how  best  to  gi\e  an  im[)ctus 
to  his  intrigue  with  her  without  committing  himself  to  any 
promise  of  mariMage.  Me  resolved  to  bring  this  beautiful 
but  exacting  girl  wholly  under  his  power.  Hecomjirehend- 
ed  fully  that  Angelique  was  prepared  to  accept  his  hand  at 


11^ 
4i 


m 

■   it 


1 


332 


77/7?  cm  EN  D'OR. 


any  moment,  nay  almost  demanded  it,  but  the  price  of 
niania;j;e  was  what  IJit^ot  would  not,  dared  not  pay,  and  as  a 
true  courtier  of  the  period  lie  heUeved  thoroughly  in  his 
ability  to  bejruile  anv  woman  he  chose  and  cheat  her  of 
the  price  slie  set  upon  her  love. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


■is 


I 


TIIK    P.M. I,    AT    THK    INTENDANT  S    PALACE. 

The  bevy  of  fair  girls  still  surrounded  liigot  on  the, 
terrace  stair.  Some  of  them  stood  leaning  in  graceful 
pose  upon  the  balusters.  The  wily  girls  knew  his  artistic 
tastes,  and  their  i)retty  feet  jiatted  time  to  the  music,  while 
they  rcsjionded  witii  ready  glee  to  the  gossiping  of  the  gay 
Inlendant. 

Amid  their  idle  badinage  Bigot  inserted  an  artful  in- 
quiry for  suggestion,  not  for  information,  whether  it  was 
true  tlint  his  fiicnd  Le  (lardeur  de  Repentigny,  now  at  the 
Man(M-  House  of  Tilly,  had  become  atilianced  to  his  cousin 
Heloise  de  Lotbiniere .''  i'here  was  a  start  of  surprise  and 
great  curiosity  at  once  manifested  among  the  ladies,  some 
of  whom  protested  that  it  could  not  be  true,  for  they  knew 
better  in  what  direction  Le  Gardeur's  inclinations  pointed. 
Others,  more  ccunpassionate  or  more  spiteful,  with  a 
touch  of  envy,  said,  "  they  hojied  it  was  true,  for  he  had 
been  jilted  by  a  young  lady  in  the  city!  Whom  they  all 
knew!"  added  one  sparkling  demoiselle,  gi\ing  herself  a 
twitch,  and  throwing  a  side  glance  which  mimicked  so  per- 
fectly the  manner  of  the  lady  hinted  at,  that  all  knew  in  a 
moment  she  meant  no  other  than  Angt'liciue  des  Meloises ! 
Thev  all  laughed  merrilv  at  the  conceit,  and  agreed  that 
Le  (lardeur  de  Repentigny  would  only  serve  the  proud 
flirt  right,  by  marrying  Meloise,  and  showing  the  world  how 
little  he  cared  for  Angel ique. 

**()r  b.ow  much  !  "  suggested  an  experienced  and  lively 
widow,  Madame  La  Touche.  ''  I  think  his  marrying 
Heloise  de  Lotbiniere  will  only  prove  the  desperate  con- 
dition of  his  feelings.  He  will  marry  her,  not  because  he 
loves  her,  but  to  spite  Ange-iique.  I  have  known  such 
things  done  before,"  added  the  widow,  seriously,  and  the 
girls  whisperid  to   one  another   that  she    had    done  it  her- 


se 


If, 


wlien  she  m 


arried   the  Sieur  La  Touche  out  of  sheer 


THE  BALL  AT  THE  LVTEXDA.VTS  PALACE.     -:>- 

vexation  at  not  cjettiiii:;  tlio  Sicur  de  Marne,  who  took 
another  woman  for  licr  monc\  and  left  the  widow  to  liirht 
fires  where  slie  fonhl  with  her  cliarnis  I 

The  Intcndant  had  reckoned  securely  on  tiie  s'.icccss  of 
his  ruse;  the  words  were  scarcely  spoken  bc;fore  a  couple 
of  close  friends  of  Ani;elique  found  her  out,  and  sitting 
one  on  each  side,  resting  their  hands  on  her  shoul'lers, 
i:)oured  into  her  ears  an  exaggerated  st'^ry  of  the  coming 
marriage  of  Le  Gardeur  with  Heloise  de  Lotbiniere! 

Angelique  believed  them  because  it  seemed  the  natural 
consequence  of  her  own  infidelity.  False  herself,  she  had 
no  right  to  expect  him  to  be  true.  Still  lo\-ing  Le  (lardeur 
in  spite  of  her  rejection  of  him,  it  maddened  her  with 
jealousy  to  hear  that  another  had  taken  that  place  in  his 
affections  where  she  so  lately  reigned  supreme  and  alone. 
She  was  angry  with  him  for  what  she  called  his  '"fauhless- 
ness,".in(l  still  more,"  angrv  at  herself  for  bein::  the  cause  of  it! 

Her  friends  who  were  watching  her  with  all  a  woman's 
curiosity  and  acuteness  were  secretly  pleased  to  see  that 
their  news  had  cut  her  to  the  quick.  They  were  not  mis- 
led by  the  affected  indiiference  and  gay  laughter  which 
veiled  the  res(Mitment  which  was  plainly  visible  in  her 
agitated  bosom. 

Her  two  friends  left  her  to  report  back  to  their  com- 
panions, with  many  exaggerations  and  much  pursing  of 
pretty  lips  how  Ang(''li(|ue  had  received  their  communication. 
They  flattered  themselves  they  had  had  the  pleasure  of 
first  breaking  the  bad  tidings  to  her,  but  they  were  mis- 
taken I  Angelique's  far  reaching  curiosity  had  touched 
Tilly  with  its  antenn;t!,  and  she  had  already  learned  of  the 
visit  of  Heloise  de  Lotbiniere,  an  old  school  companion  of 
lier  own,  to  the  Manor  House  of  'i'illy. 

She  had  scented  danger  afar  off  from  that  visit.  She 
knew  that  Heloise  W()rship])ed  Le  Clardeur,  and  now  that 
Angelique  had  cast  him  off.  what  more  natuial  than  that  he 
should  fall  at  last  into  her  snares — so  Angelique  scornfully 
termed  the  beauty  and  amiable  character  of  her  ri\al.  She 
was  angry  without  reason  and  sIh'  knew  it.  I>ul  that  made 
her  still  more  angry  and  with  still  less  reason. 

"Bigot!"  said  s!;e,  impetuously,  as  the  Intendant  re- 
joined her  when  the  half  houihad  elapsed,  "you  asked  me 
a  question  in  the  C.'aslle  of  St.  Louis,  leaning  on  the  high 
gallery  which  overlooks  the  clitTs  !     Do  you  remember  it  .^  " 


334 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


*'  I  do  ;  one  docs  not  fori^et  casil\-  what  one  asks  of  a 
beautiful  woman,  and  slill  K-ss  the  ie|)ly  she  makes  to  us," 
rei)Iied  he,  looking  at  her  sharply,  for  he  guessed  her  drift. 

"  Vet  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  both  the  question  and 
the  reply,  Piignt.  Shall  I  repeat  them  .'' "said  she,  with  an 
air  of  alVc'Ctcd  languor. 

"  Needless,  Angclique  !  and  to  prove  to  you  the  strength 
of  my  memory  which  is  but  another  name  for  the  strength 
of  my  admiration,  I  will  repeal  it.  I  asked  you  that  night  ; 
it  was  a  glorious  night,  the  bright  moon  shone  full  in  our 
faces  as  we  looked  over  the  shining  ri\er,  but  your  eyes 
eclipsed  all  the  splendor  oE  the  luavens  ;  I  asked  you  to 
give  mc  your  love — 1  askeil  for  it  then,  Angelique  I  1  ask 
for  it  now." 

Angeli(iue  was  jjlcascd  wilh  the  flattery,  even  while  she 
knew  how  liollow  and  conventional  a  thing  it  was. 

"  You  said  all  that  before,  IJigot  !  "  replied  she,  "  and 
you  added  a  foolish  speech,  which  I  confess  pleased  me 
that  nii-ht  better  than  now.  You  said  that  in  me  you  had 
found  the  fair  haven  of  your  desires,  where  your  bark, 
long  tossing  in  cross  seas,  and  beating  against  adverse 
winds  would  cast  anchor  and  be  at  rest.  The  phrase 
sounded  poetical  if  enigmatical,  but  it  pleased  me  some- 
how ;  what  did  it  mean,  IJigot  ?  I  have  puzzled  over  it 
many  times  since — pray  tell  mc  !  " 

Angeliciue  turned  her  eyes  like  two  blazing  stars  full 
upon  him  as  if  to  search  for  every  trace  of  hidden  thought 
that  luiked  in  his  countenance. 

'*  I  meant  what  1  said,  Angelique,  that  in_  you  I  had 
found  the  pearl  of  price  which  I  would  rather  call  mine 
than  wear  a  king's  crown." 

"  You  explain  one  enigma  by  another.  The  pearl  of 
price  lay  there  before  you  and  }()U  jjicked  it  up  !  It  had 
been  the  pride  of  its  former  owner,  but  you  found  it  ere  it 
was  lost.     What  did  vou  with  it,  IJigot .''" 

The  Intendant  knew  as  well  as  she,  the  drift  of  the 
angry  tide,  wliich  was  again  setting  in  full  ujDon  him.  but 
he  doubted  not  his  ability  to  escape.  His  real  contempt 
for  women  was  the  lifeboat  he  trusted  in,  which  had 
carried  himself  and  fortunes  out  of  a  hundred  storms  and 
tempests  of  feminine  wrath. 

"  I  wore  the  precious  pearl  next  my  heart,  as  any  gal- 
lant gentleman  should  do,"  replied  he   blandly,   "  I  would 


THE  BALL  AT  TfrE  INTENDA^TS  PALACE. 


335 


have  worn   it    inside    my    heart  could    I    have  shut   it  up 
there." 

Ijii;ot  smiled  in  coni|)lacent  self-ajij^roval  at  liis  own 
speecii.  Not  so  Angclic|ue  !  She  was  irritated  by  his  gen- 
eral reference  to  the  dutv  of  a  gallant  "entleman  to  the  sex 
and  not  to  his  own  special  duty  as  tiie  admirer  of  herself. 
Angeiicpie  was  like  an  an<;ry  panlheress  at  this  mo- 
ment. 'J"he  darts  of  jealousy  just  planted  by  her  two  friends 
lore  her  sitle,  and  she  felt  reckless  both  as  to  what  she 
said  and  what  she  did.  With  a  burst  of  passion  not  rare 
in  women  like  her,  she  turned  her  wrath  full  upon  him  as  the 
nearest  object.  She  struck  Bii^ot  with  her  clenched  hand 
upon  the  breast,  exclaimiuii^  with  wild  vehemence  : 

"You  lie  !  Francois  Jiigot,  you  never  wore  me  next  your 
heart,  althousih  vou  said  so  !  V'ou  wear  the  I.adv  of  lleau- 
manoir  next  your  heart.  \'ou  have  ojiened  your  heart  to  her 
after  plecli^inir  it  to  me!  If  I  was  the  ])earl  of  j)rice,  you 
have  adorned  her  with  it — my  abasement  is  her  fjlory  !  " 
Anj;elique's  tall,  strai^;ht  ri<;ure  stood  up,  magnified  with 
fury  as  she  uttered  this. 

The  Intendant  stepjK'd  back  in  surprise  at  the  suddeii 
attack.  Had  the  blow  fallen  upon  his  face,  such  is  human 
natiu'c,  Pjigot  would  have  regarded  it  as  an  unpardonable 
insult,  but  falling  ui)on  his  breast,  he  burst  out  in  a  loud 
laugh  as  he  caught  hold  of  her  C|ui\'ering  hand,  which  she 
plucked  passionately  away  from  him. 

'J'he  eyes  of  Angel icjue  looked  dangerous  and  full  of 
mischief,  but  Bigot  was  not  afraid  or  olYended.  In  truth 
her  jealousy  flattered  him,  applying  it  wholl)  to  himself. 
He  was,  moreover,  a  connoisseur  in  female  temper  ;  he 
liked  to  see  the  storm  of  jealous  rage,  to  watch  the  rising 
of  its  black  clouds,  to  witness  the  lightning  and  the  thun- 
der, the  gusts  and  wliirlwinds  of  ]:)assion,  followed  by  the 
rain  of  angry  tears,  when  the  tears  were  on  his  account. 
He  thought  he  had  never  seen  so  beautiful  a  Fury  as  An- 
gelique  was  at  that  moment. 

Her  pointed  epithet,"  you  lie  !  "  which  it  would  have  been 
death  for  a  man  to  utter,  made  no  dint  on  the  polished 
armor  of  JJigot,  although  he  inly  resolved  that  she  should 
pay  a  woman's  penalty  for  it. 

He  had  heard  that  word  from  other  pretty  lips  before, 
but  it  left  no  mark  upon  a  conscience  that  was  one  stain, 
upon  a  life  that  was  one  fraud.  Still  his  bold  spirit  rather  liked 


33^ 


THE  CJ//E.V  D'OR. 


this  bold  ultcrance  from  an  ani^rv  woman,  when  it  was  in 
his  |iowcr  by  a  word  to  cliani^c  her  ra;^e  into  the  tender 
cooing  (jf  a  dove. 

Bigot  was  by  nature  a  luniter  of  women,  and  preferred 
the  excitement  of  a  hard  chase  when  the  deer  turns  at  bay, 
and  its  capture  gave  him  a  trophy  to  be  proud  of,  to  the 
chill  concjuest  of  a  tame  and  easy  virtue,  such  as  were  most 
of  those  wliich  had  fallen  in  his  wav. 

"Angelique  !  "  said  he,  '"ihis  is  perfect  madness  ;  what 
means  this  burst  of  anger  ?  Do  you  doubt  the  sincerity  of 
my  love  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  do,  liigot !  I  doubt  it  and  I  deny  it.  So  long  as  you 
keep  a  mistress  concealed  at  lleaumanijir,  your  pledge  to 
me  is  false  and  your  love  an  insult." 

"  Vou  are  too  impetuous  and  too  imperious,  AngtMique  ! 
I  have  promised  you  she  shall  be  removed  from  Heaumanoir 
and  she  shall--" 

*'  Whither,  and  when  t  " 

"  To  the  city,  and  in  a  few  days — she  can  live  there  in 
quiet  seclusion.     I  cannot  be  cruel  to  her,  Angelique." 

"■  But  you  can  be  cruel  to  me,  Bigot,  and  will  be  unless 
you  exercise  the  power  which  I  know  is  placed  in  your 
hands  by  the  king  himself." 

"  What  is  that,  to  confiscate  her  lands  and  goods  if  she 
had  any?" 

'*  No,  to  confiscate  her  person  !  Issue  a  Idtre  de  cachet 
and  send  her  over  sea  to  the  Bastile." 

Bigot  was  irritated  at  this  suggestion,  and  his  irritation 
was  narrowlv  watched  by  Angeliciue. 

'"  1  would  rather  go  to  the  Bastile  myself!"  exclaimed 
lie,  "besides  the  king  alone  issues  Icttres  de  cachet.  It  is  a 
royal  prerogative,  only  to  be  used  in  matters  of  state." 

"  And  matters  of  love.  Bigot !  which  are  matters  of  state 
in  France  !  Pshaw  !  as  if  I  did  not  know  that  the  king  del- 
egates his  authority  and  gives  lettrcs  de  cachet  in  blank  to 
his  trusted  courtiers,  and  even  to  the  ladies  of  his  court. 
Did  not  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour  send  Mademoiselle 
Vaubernier  to  the  Bastile  for  only  smiling  upon  the  king? 
It  is  a  small  thing  I  ask  of  you.  Bigot,  to  test  your  fidelity, 
you  cannot  refuse  me,  come  !  "  added  she,  with  a  wondrous 
transforjnation  of  look  and  manner  from  storm  and  gloom 
to  warmth  and  sunshine. 

"  1  cannot  and  will  not  do  it.      Hark  you,  Ang(flique, 


THE  BALL  AT  TlfE  LXTEXDAiVrS  PALACE. 


337 


I  dare  not  do  it!  Powerful  as  I  may  seem,  the  family  of 
that  lady  is  too  potent  to  risk  the  experiment  ujion.  I 
would  fain  oblige  you  in  this  matter,  but  it  would  be  the 
height  of  madness  to  do  so." 

'*  Well  then,  Bigot,  do  this,  if  you  will  not  do  that ! 
Place  her  in  the  convent  of  the  Ursulines.  It  will  suit  her 
and  me  both.  No  better  place  in  the  world  to  tame  an 
unruly  spirit.  She  is  one  of  the  pious  souls  who  will  be  at 
home  there,  with  plenty  of  prayers  and  penances,  and 
plenty  of  sins  to  pray  for  every  day." 

"  l)Ut  J  cannot  force  her  to  enter  the  convent,  Angdlique. 
She  will  think  herself  not  good  enough  to  go  there  ;  besides 
the  nuns  themselves  would  have  scruples  to  receive  her." 

"Not  \i you  request  her  admission  of  Mere  de  la  Nativ- 
ite.  The  lady  superior  will  refuse  no  application  of  yours. 
Bigot." 

"Won't  she!  but  she  will  !  The  Mbre  de  la  Nativite' 
considers  me  a  sad  reprobate,  and  has  already  when  I 
visited  her  parlor  read  me  a  couple  of  sharjiest  homilies 
on  mv  evil  wavs,  as  she  called  thein.  The  venerable  Mere 
de  la  Nativite'  will  not  carry  coals,  I  assure  you,  Angelique." 

"As  if  I  did  not  know  her!  "  replied  she  impatiently, 
"why  she  screens  with  all  her  authf)rity  that  wiUl  nephew 
of  hers,  the  Sieur  Varin.  Nothing  irritates  her  like  hearing 
a  bad  report  of  him,  and  although  she  knows  all  that  is 
said  of  him  to  be  true  as  her  breviary,  she  will  not  atlmit 
it.  The  scaurs  coni^crscs  in  the  laundry  were  put  on  bread 
and  water  with  prayers  for  a  week,  only  for  repeating  some 
gossip   they  had  heard  concerning  him." 

"  Aye  !  that  is  because  the  venerable  Mere  Superior  is 
touchy  on  the  point  of  family — but  I  am  not  her  nephew, 
voild  la  (I{fft-raJi:c  ."x?,  the  song  says." 

"  Well  !  but  you  are  her  nephew's  master  and  pat- 
ron," replied  Ang(flique,  "  and  the  good  Mere  will  strain 
many  points  to  oblige  the  Intendant  of  New  France  for 
sake  of  the  Sieur  Varin.  You  do  not  know  her  as  I  do, 
Bigot." 

"What  do  you  advise,  Angt'Hque  .-*"  asked  he,  curious 
to  see  what  was  working  in  lier  brain. 

"That  if  you  will  not  issue  a  Idtrc  de  cachet^  you  shall 
pla'^e  the  Lady  of  BeaumaiKjir  in  the  hands  of  the  Mere 
de  la  Nativite  with  instructions  to  receive  her  into  the  com- 
munity after  the  shortest  probation." 

22 


33^ 


TffE  C[{/E.\  irOA'. 


"  Very  ffood,  AnuL'li(iiief  lUit  if  I  do  not  know  the 
Merc  Siipc'iior,  you  do  not  Unow  the  Lady  of  IJcanmanoir. 
There  are  reasons  why  the  ninis  would  not  and  could  not 
receive  her  at  all — even  weri'  she  >villnij(  to  go,  as  1  think 
she  would  he.  iiut  I  will  provide  her  a  home  suited  to  her 
station  in  thi'  c'xty,  only  you  must  promise  to  sjieak  to  me 
no  more  res|)ecting  iier. ' 

"  I  will  pronn'se  no  such  thinjj^,  IJigot!"  said  Aiifj^t'lique, 
fnini^  up  aj;ain  at  the  failure  of  her  crafty  plan  for  the  dis- 
posal of  Caroline,  '*  to  have  her  in  the  cily  will  be  worse 
than  to  have  Iter  at  Deautnanoii ." 

"Are  you  afraid  of  the  poor  j>irl,  Angelique  ;  you,  with 
your  surpassinjr  beauty,  grace  and  power  over  all  who  ap- 
proach you  ?     She  cannot  tcnich  you  !  " 

"  SIk:  has  toucheil  uie,  and  l(»  the  quick,  too,  already," 
she  replied,  coloring  wiih  passion,  "  You  love  that  girl, 
Frangois  JJigot  !  I  am  never  decei\ed  in  men.  You  love 
her  too  well  to  give  her  up,  and  still  you  make  lo\»j  to  me ; 
what  am  I  to  think?  " 

"Think  that  you  women  are  able  to  upset  any  man's 
reason,  and  make  f(jols  of  us  all  to  your  own  purposes. 
Bigot  saw  the  useles^-ness  of  argument ;  but  she  would  not 
drop  the  topic,  , 

"So  you  say,  and  so  I  have  found  it  with  others,"  re- 
plied slie,  "  but  not  with  you,  iJigot,  15ut  I  shall  '^ave  been 
made  the  fool  of,  unless  1  carrv  my  point  in  regard  to  this 
lady." 

"Well,  trust  to  me,  Ange]i([ue,  Hark  you  :  there  are 
reasons  of  state  connected  with  her.  Her  father  has  pow- 
erful friends  at  Court,  and  I  inust  act  waril\-.  Give  me 
your  hand  ;  we  will  be  friends,  I  will  carry  out  your 
wishes  to  the  farthest  possible  stretch  of  my  power,  I  can 
say  no  more," 

Angelique  gave  him  her  hand.  She  saw  she  could  not 
carry  her  point  with  the  Intendant,  and  her  fertile  brain 
was  now  scheming  another  way  to  accom[)lish  her  ends. 
She  had  already  undergone  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  and 
repented  having  carried  her  resentment  so  far  ;  not  that 
she  felt  it  less,  I)ut  she  was  cunning  and  artful,  although 
her  temper  sometimes  overturned  her  craft,  and  made 
wreck  of  her  schemes, 

"  I  am   scarry    I   was  so  angiy,  Iligot,   as  to  strike  you 
with  this  feeble  hand."    Ange'lique  smiled  as  she  extended 


THE  BALL  AT  THE  IXTEXDAXTS  PALACE. 


339 


her  dainty  fiiipjcrs,  wliicli,  dclicalo  as  they   were,  had  Ihe 
strciiLjth  and  ilasticily  of  steel. 

"  Not  so  feeble,  either,  Anj^eliqne  !  "  replied  he,laui,diinjT, 
"few  men  could  |ilint  a  better  blow.  N'ou  hit  nie  on  the 
heart  fairly,  .\ni;elic)ne." 

lie  seized  her  hand,  and  lifted  it  to  his  lips.  Had 
Queen  Dido  possessed  that  hand,  she  would  have  held  fast 
^Cneas  himself,  when  he  ran  away  from  his  eni^a'^ements. 

AnL,^eIiciUL'  pressed  the  Inteiulant's  hand  with  a  !j;rasp 
that  left  e\ery  vein  bloodless.  '*  As  I  iiold  fast  to  you,  l>i- 
got,  and  hold  you  to  your  eni^agements,  thank  (lod  that 
you  are  not  a  woman  !  If  you  were,  I  think  I  should  kill 
you.  But  as  you  are  a  man,  I  forujive,  and  take  y(Hir 
promise  of  amendment.  It  is  what  foolish  women  al- 
vvavs  do  !  " 

The  sound  of  the  music  and  the  measured  tread  of 
feet  in  the  lively  dances  were  now  plainly  heard  in  the 
pauses  of  their  conversation. 

They  rose  and  entered  the  ball  room.  The  music 
ceased,  and  recommenced  a  new  strain  for  the  Intendant 
and  h'<  f  nr  partner,  and  foi-  a  time  An;;eliciue  forgot  her 
wrath  in  the  delirious  excitement  of  the  daiice. 

She  i)ossessed  in  an  eminent  degree  the  power  of  hiding 
her  ungracious  moods  under  a  mask  of  deceit  impene- 
trable. With  a  chameleon-like  faculty  siie  could  assume 
the  complexion  of  the  company  that  surrounded  her,  when 
it  suited  her  pnrjiose  to  do  so. 

But  in  the  (lan.ce  her  exuberance  of  spirits  overflowed 
like  a  fountain  of  intoxicating  wine.  She  cared  not  for 
things  past  or  future,  in  the  ecstatic  joy  of  the  present. 

Her  volu|~)tuous  beauty,  lissomeness  and  grace  of  move- 
ment enthralled  all  eyes  with  admiration,  as  she  danced 
with  the  Intendant,  who  was  himself  no  mean  votary  of 
.Terpsichore.  ;\  lock  of  her  long  golden  hair  broke  loose, 
and  streamed  in  wanton  disorder  over  her  shoulders  ;  but 
she  heeded  it  not, — carried  away  by  the  spirit  of  the  dance, 
and  the  triumph  of  present  ])Ossessiou  of  the  courtly  In- 
tendant. Her  dainty  feet  flashed  under  her  flying  robe, 
and  seemed  scarcely  to  touch  the  floor,  as  they  kept  time 
to  the  swift  tiirobbings  of  the  music. 

The  Intendant  gazed  with  rapture  on  his  beautiful  part- 
ner, as  she  leaned  upon  his  arm  in  the  pauses  of  the  dance, 
and  thought  more  than  once  that  the  world  would  be  well 


V 


340 


THE  CniEiX  D'OR. 


lost  for  sake  of  such  a  woman.  It  was  but  a  passing 
fancy,  however,  the  scrif)us  mood  passed  away,  and  he 
was  weary,  loiip;  before  An^xMi(|ue,  of  tlie  excitement  and 
breathless  heal  of  a  wihl  I'oHsh  (hmce,  recently  first  heard 
of  in  I'Ycnch  society.  He  led  her  to  a  seat,  and  left  her  in 
the  centr-:;  of  a  swarm  of  admirers,  and  passed  into  an  al- 
cove to  cool  and  rest  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXXHI. 


N 


hi        ) 


III 


"on    with   the   dance." 


Bigot,  a  vohii)tuary  in  every  sense,  craved  a  change 
of  pleasure.  He  was  never  satisfied  long  with  one,  however 
pungent.  He  felt  it  as  a  relief  when  Ani^eli(|iic  went  off 
like  a  lauii^hinij^  sjiritc  upf)n  the  arm  of  I)e  Pean.  "  I  am 
glad  to  get  rid  of  the  women  sometimes,  and  feel  like  a 
man,"  he  said  to  Cadet,  who  sat  driiiking  and  telling  stories 
with  hilarious  laughter  to  two  or  three  boon  companions, 
and  indulging  in  the  coarsest  jests  and  broadest  scandal 
about  the  ladies  at  the  bail,  as  they  passed  by  the  alcove 
where  they  were  seated. 

The  eager  persistence  of  Angel i que  in  her  demand  for 
Ts.  litre  ik  Ciiihct  to  banish  the  unfortunate  Caroline,  had 
wearied  and  somewhat  disgusted  JJigot. 

"  I  would  cut  the  throat  of  any  man  in  the  world  for 
the  sake  of  her  bright  eyes,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  she  gave 
him  a  parting  salute  with  her  handkerchief  ;  "but  she  must 
not  ask  me  to  hurt  that  poor  foolish  girl  at  Heaumanoir, 
No,  bv  St.  ricot !  .v//('  is  hurt  enough  alreadv,  and  1  will 
not  have  Angeliquc  tormenting  her  !  What  merciless  crea- 
tures women  are  to  one  another.  Cadet  I "  said  he,  aloud. 
Cadet  looked  up  with  red,  inflamed  eyes,  at  the  remark 
of  Bigot.  He  cared  nothing  for  women  himself,  and  never 
hesitated  to  show  his  contempt  for  the  whole  sex. 

*'  Merciless  creatures,  do  you  call  them,  Bigot !  the 
claws  of  all  the  cats  in  Caen  could  not  match  the  finoer- 
nails  of  a  jealous  woman — still  less  her  biting  tongue 


"  ON  WITH  THE  DAXCE." 


34t 


;r 
le 


"And  they  are  all  citlier  envious  or  jealous,  I  believe, 
Cadet,"  replied  ni.i;()t,  l;ui_i;hin;,'. 

"  Mitlier  envious  or  Jealous  !  "  exclaimed  Cadet,  contemp- 
tuously ;  "  they  are  all  both  the  one  and  the  other,  tame  cats 
in  their  maudlin  affections,  purring  and  rubbinj;  against  you 
one  nioniiiit,  wild  cats  in  their  anger,  Hying  at  you  and 
drawing  blood  the  next.  .Msop's  fable  of  the  cat  turned 
woman,  who  forsook  her  bridal  i)ed  to  catch  a  mouse,  is  as 
true  of  the  sex  as  if  he  had  been  their  maker. 

"  All  the  cats  in  (!aen  could  not  ha\e  matched  IVetiosa, 
eh,  Cadet  ?  "  replied  I'igot,  with  allusion  to  a  nocturnal 
adventure,  from  which  Cadet  had  escaped,  like  I'abius, 
discinctA  tunica.  "  Pretiosa  proved  to  an  ocular  demonstra- 
tion that  no  wild  cat's  chiws  can  equal  the  nails  of  a  jeal- 
ous woman." 

The  Intendant's  (luip  roused  the  merriment  of  the 
party,  and  Cadet,  who  gloried  in  every  shame,  laughed 
loudest  of  them  all. 

'"'' Saiivc  qui  pent !  Bigot,"  ejaculated  he,  shaking  his 
histy  sides.  "1  left  some  of  my  hair  in  the  lingers  of 
Pretiosa,  liut  there  was  no  help  for  it.  I  was  as  liand- 
somely  tonsured  as  the  Abbe  de  Bernis  !  But  wait,  P>igot, 
until  your  own  Pretiosa  overtakes  you  on  the  road  to  ruin, 
in  company  with — don't  twitch  me,  Martel,  you  are  drunk! 
Bigot  does  not  care  a  tig  what  we  say." 

This  was  addressed  to  his  companion,  who  stood  some- 
what in  awe  of  the  Intendant,  but  needlessly,  as  Cadet 
well  knew;  for  among  his  familiars  Bigot  was  the  most 
free  of  boon  com])anions.  Me  delighted  in  the  coarsest 
allusions,  and  was  ever  ready  to  give  and  take  the  broadest 
personal  gibes  with  good  humor  and  utter  indilference  to 
character  or  reputation. 

The  Intendant,  with  a  loud  explosion  of  laughter,  sat 
down  to  the  table,  and  holding  out  a  long-stenuned  goblet 
of  Beauvais  to  be  filled  with  sparkling  wine,  replied  gaily  : 

"You  never  spoke  a  truer  word,  Cadet,  though  you  did 
not  know  it!  My  Pretiosa  yonder,"  said  he,  pointing  to 
Angelique,  who  Hashed  by  in  the  dance,  "  would  i)ut  to 
his  trumps  the  best  player  in  Paris  to  win  the  odd  trick  of 
her — and  not  count  by  honors,  either  1  " 

"  But  you  will  win  the  odd  trick  of  that  girl  yet,  Bigot, 
and  not  count  bv  honors,  either  !  or  1  know  nothinir  of 
women,"  replied  Cadet,  bluntly.    "  They  are  all  alike,  only 


I 


l^ 


\ 


342 


T//E  CIHEN'  nOR. 


some  are  more  likely.  The  pipers  of  Poictiers  never  played 
a  spring  that  An^clique  dcs  ^leloises  would  not  dance  to  1 
Look  at  l)e  I'ean,  how  pleased  he  is  with  lier  !  She  is 
fooliiifT  hini  to  his  very  finger  ends.  He  believes  she  is 
dancing  with  him,  and  all  the  lime  she  is  dancing  to  nobody 
but  jv;//,  Bigot  !"' 

"Well,  I  rather  admire  the  way  she  leads  De  Pean 
such  a  dance  !  She  makes  a  jolly  fool  of  him,  and  she 
knows  I  see  it,  too." 

"  Just  like  them  all  !  full  of  deceit,  as  an  egg  of  Satan 
is  full  of  mischief!  Damn  tiiem  all!  Bi<rot  !  A  man  is 
not  worth  his  salt  in  the  world,  until  he  has  done  with  the 
women  I" 

"  You  are  a  Cynic  !  Cadet,"  replied  Bigot,  laughing. 
'*  Diogenes  in  his  tub  would  call  vou  brother,  and  ask  vou 
to  share  his  house.  But  Athens  never  produced  a  girl 
like  that.  Aspasia  and  Thais  were  not  fit  to  light  her  to 
bed." 

"  Ang('Hque  will  go  without  alight,  or  I  am  mistaken, 
Bigot  !  lUit  it  is  dry  talking,  take  another  glass  of  Cham- 
pagne, Bigot  !  "  Cadet  with  a  free  hand  filled  for  Bigot 
and  the  others.  The  wine  seemed  gradually  to  mollify  his 
harsh  opinion  of  the  sex. 

"I  know  from  experience,  Bigot,"  continued  he  after  he 
had  drank,  "  that  every  man  is  a  fool  once  at  least  in  his 
lifetime  to  women,  and  if  you  lose  your  wits  for  Angc'lique 
des  Meloises.  why  she  is  pretty  enough  to  excuse  you. 
Now  that  is  all  I  have  got  to  say  about  her!  Drink  again, 
Bigot  !  " 

Angc'lique  whirled  again  past  the  alcove,  without  look- 
ing in  except  by  a  glance  so  quick  and  subtle,  that  Ariel 
herself  could  not  have  caught  it.  She  saw  the  eves  of  the 
Intendant  following  her  motions,  and  her  feet  shot  a  thou- 
sand scintillations  of  witchery,  as  her  robe  Huttered  and 
undulated  round  her  shapely  limbs,  revealing  beauties  which 
the  freedom  of  the  dance  alloweil  to  flash  forth  without 
censure,  except  on  the  part  of  a  few  elderly  matrons  who 
sat  exchanging  connnents,  and  making  comparisons  be- 
tween the  looks  autl  demeanor  of  the  various  (Lmcers. 

"  Observe  the  Intendant,  Madame  Couillard  !  "  exclaim- 
ed Madame  de  Grandmaison.  "  lie  has  not  taken  his 
eyes  off  Angc'lique  des  Meloises  for  tlie  last  ten  minutes, 
and  she  knows  it !   the  forward  minx  I      She  would  not 


' 


"O.V  Wrni  THE  DAXCE." 


343 


dance  with  such  zest,  mercl\  to  jilease  the  Chevalier  de 
Pean,  whom  she  hates.  1  think  the  Inteiulant  would  look 
better  on  the  Hoor  dancing  with  some  of  our  girls,  who  are 
waiting  for  the  honor,  instead  of  drinking  wine  and  rivet- 
ing his  eyes  upon  that  pieci   of  assurance  !  " 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you.  ^fadame  de  Grandmaison," 
replied  Madame  Couillard,  who  having  no  daughters  to 
bring  out,  could  view  the  matter  more  j)hilosoi)hically  than 
her  friend.  "  lUit  they  say  the  Intendant  particularly 
admires  a  fine  foot  ind  ankle  in  a  woman  !  " 

"  I  think  so,  by  the  way  he  watches  her's,"  was  the  tart 
re])ly,  "and  she  humors  his  taste  tool  Angrlique  is  vain 
of  her  foot  as  she  is  of  her  face.  She  once  \e.\ed  the  entire 
convent,  by  challenging  them  all,  pupils,  nuns  and  postu- 
lantes  to  match  the  perfect  symmetry  of  her  foot  and  leg! 
She  would  make  the  world  her  footstool  when  she  came 
out !  she  told  them,  anv!  she  laughed  in  tiie  face  of  the  ven- 
erable Mere  de  la  ?.'ativit(',  who  threatened  her  with  heavy 
penances  to  atone  for  the  wicked  words  she  uttered." 

"  And  she  defies  the  world  still,  as  she  used  to  defy 
the  convent,"  replied  Madame  C'ouiilard,  quite  genteelly 
shocked.  "  Look  at  her  now,  did  you  ever  see  such  abandon^ 
and  l)()w  the  gentlemen  all  admire  her!  Well,  girls  have 
no  shame  now  a  days !  I  am  glad  1  have  no  daughters, 
Madame  de  Grandmaison  !  " 

This  was  a  side  shot  of  Madame  Couillard  at  her  friend, 
and  it  went  home.  ]\[adime  Couillard  never  scrupled 
to  make  a  target  of  a  friend,  if  nothing  better  offered. 
"  Nieces  are  just  as  bad  as  daughters  !  Madame  Couillard  !  " 
replied  Ihe  matron,  bridling  up  and  directing  a  half  scornful 
look  at  a  group  of  lively  girls,  who  were  er.^.iged  in  a  des- 
perate llirtation  upon  t'.ie  seats  farthest  under  the  galle»'y, 
and  as  they  supposed  well  out  of  sight  of  their  keen  chap- 
erone,  who  saw  them  very  well,  however,  but  being  satisfied 
with  the  company  thev  were  in,  would  not  see  more  of 
them  than  the  occasion  called  for!  Madame  Couillard 
had  set  her  mind  upon  bestowing  the  care  and  charge  of 
her  troublesome  nieces  upon  young  De  la  Roque  and  the 
Sieur  de  Hourget,  she  was  therefore  deliglued  to  see  her 
pretty  brace  of  mancaichers  running  down  the  game  so 
handsomely. 

I'he  black  eyed  girls,  gay  as  Columbines,  and  crafty  as 
their  aunt  herself,  plied  their  g;dlants  with  a  very  fair  imi- 


M 


344 


T//E  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


f".% 


tation  of  the  style  and  manner  of  Angt'liqiie,  as  the  most 
effectual  mode  of  ensnariiij;  the  roviii<:^  fancies  of  their 
gallants.  'J'hey  all  hated  An^eliqiie  cordially  for  the  airs 
they  accused  her  of  putting  on,  and  still  more  for  the  suc- 
cess of  her  airs,  but  did  their  utmost,  nevertheless,  to 
copy  her  peculiar  style,  and  so  just'fied  by  this  feminine 
homage,  her  claim  to  look  down  upon  them  with  a  sort  of 
easy  superiority,  as  the  Queen  of  fashion  in  the  gay  society 
of  tiie  capital. 

"  Angelique  likes  to  dance  with  the  Chevalier  de 
Tean  !  "  replied  IMadame  C.'ouillard,  quickly  turning  the 
conversation  to  less  personal  ground.  "  She  thinks  that 
his  uirliness  sets  off  her  own  attractions  to  {greater  advan- 
tage  1     I'hat  is  why  she  dances  with  him  !  " 

"  And  well  mav  she  think  so  !  for  an  uirlier  man  than 
the  Chevalier  de  Pean  is  not  to  be  found  in  New  France. 
My  daughters  all  think  so  too  !  "  replied  Madame  de 
(Irandmaison,  who  felt  with  some  resentment  tliat  her  own 
daughters  had  been  slighted  by  the  rich  though  ugly  Chev- 
alier de  Pcan. 

"Yes,  De  Pean  avoided  them  all  the  evening,  although 
they  looked  their  eyes  out  the  way  he  was,"  thought 
Madame  Couillard  to  herself,  but  spoke  in  her  politest 
manner. 

"  Hut  he  is  rich  they  say  as  Croesus,  and  very  influen- 
tial with  the  Intendant !  Few  girls  now-a-days  would  mind 
his  ugliness  any  more  than  Angrlique,  for  the  sake  of  his 
wealth  !  Put  Angelique  knows  she  is  diawing  the  eyes  of 
the  Chevalier  Bigot  after  her.  That  is  enough  for  her  !  She 
would  dance  with  a  Hobgoblin  to  charm  the  Intendant, 
V  ith  her  pretty  paces  !  " 

"  She  has  no  shame  I  I  would  cut  the  feet  off  my  girls 
if  they  presumed  to  step  striding  about  as  she  does,"  re- 
plied Madame  de  Grandmaison,  with  a  look  of  scorn  on 
lip  and  eyebrow.  "  I  always  taught  my  daughters  a 
chaste  and  modest  demeanor,  I  trained  them  properly 
when  \oimg.  1  used  in  Creole  fashion  to  tie  their  ankles 
together  with  a  ribbon  when  in  the  house,  and  never  per- 
mitted them  to  exceed  the  length  of  two  spans  at  a  step. 
It  is  that  gives  the  nice  tripping  walk  which  the  gentlemen 
so  much  admire,  and  which  everyone  notices  in  my  girls 
and  in  myself,  Madame  Couillard  !  I  learned  the  secret  in 
the  Antilles,  where  the  ladies  all  learn  to  walk  like  angels." 


;.  I; 


"  av  WITH  THE  dan-ce: 


345 


"  Indeed  !  I  often  wondered  how  tlie  Demoiselles 
Grandmaisons  had  acquired  that  nice  trippinij;  step  of 
theirs,  which  makes  theiu  so  distinf^juislied  among  the //^?/^/ 
tons  of  the  city  !  "  said  M  idam^  Couiliard  with  an  imper- 
ceptible sneer.     "  I  did  nut  know  they  had  been   to  walk- 


ing sc 


:hool 


"  Is  it  not  admirable  ?  You  see,  Madame  Couiliard,  gen- 
tlemen are  often  more  taken  by  the  feet  than  bv  tiie  face." 

"  I  dare  sa\-  when  the  feet  are  the  better  feature  oi  the 
two  !  But  men  are  such  dupes,  Madame  Grantlmaison  ! 
Some  fall  in  love  with  an  eye,  some  with  a  nose,  or  a  curl, 
a  hand,  an  ankle,  and  as  you  remark,  a  foot  ;  few  care  for  a 
heart,  for  it  is  not  seen.  1  know  one  gentleman  who  was 
caught  by  the  waft  of  a  skirt  against  his  knee !  "  and 
Madame  Couiliard  laughed  at  the  recollection  of  some 
past  incident  in  her  own  days  of  love  making. 

"  A  nice  gait  is  indeed  a  great  step  in  feminine  educa- 
tion ! "  was  the  summing  up  of  the  matter  by  Madame 
Grandmaison.  "  It  is  the  hist  lesson  in  moral  propriety, 
and  the  foundation  of  all  female  excellence  I  I  have  im- 
pressed its  importance  with  all  my  force  upon  the  good 
Ursulines,  as  being  worthy  of  a  foremost  place  in  their 
programme  of  studies  for  young  ladies  entrusted  to  their 
pious  care,  and  have  some  hope  of  its  bjing  adopted  by 
them.  If  it  is,  future  generations  of  our  girls  will  walk  like 
angels  on  clouds,  and  not  step  out  like  race-horses  in  the 
fashion  of  Angelic[ue  des  Meloises." 

'I'his  was  very  ill-natured  of  M  .dame  Grandmaison. 
Sheer  envy  in  fact!  for  her  daughters  were  at  that  moment 
attitudinizing  their  best  in  imitation  of  Ange'lique's  graceful 
movements. 

Angc'lique  des  Meloises  swept  ]:)ast  the  two  matrons 
in  a  storm  oi  music,  as  if  in  detiance  of  their  sage  criti- 
cisms. Her  hand  rested  on  the  shoulder  of  the  Chevalier 
de  Pean,  while  hating  the  touch  of  him.  She  had  an  ob- 
ject which  made  her  endure  it,  and  her  <lissinuilation  was 
perfect.  Her  eyes  transfivcd  his  with  their  da//ling  lf)ok. 
Her  lips  were  wreathed  in  smiles;  she  talked  continually 
as  she  danced,  and  with  an  inconsistency  which  did  not 
seem  strange  in  her,  was  lamenting  tlie  absence  from  the 
ball  of  Le  Gardeur  de  ReiJentigny. 

"Chevalier,"  said  she,  in  rejily  to  some  gallantry  of 
her  partner,  "most  women  take  pride  in  making  sacrifices 


i 


1 


3  hi    , 


il 


'it 


a 


346 


TY/A  cm  EN  D'OR. 


of  themselves  ;  T  prefer  to  sacrifice  my  admirers.  T  like 
a  mail,  not  in  the  measure  of  what  I  do  for  him,  l)ut  what 
he  will  do  for  me.  Is  not  that  a  candid  avowal,  Chevalier? 
You  like  fran   ness,  you  know." 

Frankness  and  the  Ciievalier  de  Pean  were  unknown 
quantities  toi^ether;  but  he  was  des]3erately  smitten,  and 
would  bear  any  amount  of  snubbing  from  Angelique. 

"  You  have  something  in  your  mind  you  wish  me  to 
do,"  replied  he,  eagerly.  "  [  would  poison  my  grand- 
mother, if  you  asked  me,  for  the  reward  yor  could  give 
me."' 

"Yes,  I  have  something  in  my  mind,  Chevalier,  but 
not  concerning  your  grandmother.  Tell  me  why  you 
allowed  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  to  leave  the  cily?" 

'M  did  not  allow  him  to  leave  the  city,"  said  he,  twitch- 
ing his  ugly  features,  for  he  disliked  the  interest  she  ex- 
pressed in  Le  Gardeur,  "  I  would  fain  have  kept  him  here 
if  I  could.  "^I'lie  Intendant,  too,  had  desperate  need  of 
him.  It  was  his  sister  and  Colonel  Philibert  who  spirited 
him  away  from  us." 

"  Well,  a  ball  in  Quebec  is  not  worth  twisting  a  curl 
for  in  the  absence  of  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  !  "  replied 
she.  "  You  shall  promise  me  to  bring  him  back  to  the  city, 
Chevalier,  or  I  will  dance  with  you  no  more." 

Angelique  laughed  so  gayly  as  she  said  this  that  a 
stranger  would  have  interpreted  her  words  as  all  jest. 

"  She  means  it,  nevertheless,"  thought  the  Chevalier. 
"  I  will  promise  my  best  endeavor,  i\Iademoiselle,"  said  he, 
setting  hard  his  teeth,  with  a  grimace  of  dissatisfaction, 
which  (lid  iiot  escape  llie  eye  of  Angelicjue.  "  Moreover,  the 
Intendant  desires  his  return  on  affairs  of  the  Grand  Com- 
pany, and  has  sent  more  than  one  message  to  him  already, 
to  urire  his  return." 

"  A  fig  for  the  Grand  Company  !  Remember,  it  is  / 
desire  his  return  ;  and  it  is  my  connnand,  not  the  Intend- 
anl's,  which  you  are  bound,  as  a  gallant  gentleman,  to 
obey,"  Angelique  would  have  no  divided  allegiance,  and 
the  man  who  claimed  her  favors  must  give  himself  up  body 
and  soul,  without  thought  of  redemption. 

She  felt  very  reckless  and  very  wilful  at  this  moment. 
The  laughter  on  her  lips  was  the  ebullition  of  a  hot  and  angry 
heart,  not  the  play  of  a  joyous,  happy  spirit.  Bigot's  re- 
fusal of  a  Litre  dc  cachet  had  stung  her  pride  to  the  quick, 


"  ox  WITH  THE  DAXCEr 


347 


and  excited  a  feelinsj  of  resentment,  which  found   its  eX' 
pression  in  the  wish  for  the  return  of  Le  Gardeur. 

"Why  do  you  desire  the  return  of  Le  Gardeur?" 
asked  I)e  Pean,  hesitatingly.  Angelique  was  often  too 
frank  by  lialf,  and  questioners  got  from  her  more  than  they 
liked  to  hear. 

"  Because  he  was  my  first  admirer,  and  I  never  forget 
a  true  friend,  Chevalier,"  replied  she,  with  an  undertone  of 
fond  regret  in  her  voice. 

"  But  he  will  not  be  your  last  admirer,"  replied  De 
Pean,  with  what  he  considered  a  seductive  leer,  which 
made  her  laugh  at  him.  '*  In  the  kingdom  of  love,  as  in 
the  kingdom  of  heaven,  the  last  shall  be  first,  and  the  first 
last.      May  I  be  the  last,  Mademoiselle?" 

"  You  will  certainly  be  the  last,  De  Pean  ;  I  promise 
that."  Angelitjue  laughed  j:)rovokingly.  She  saw  the  eye 
of  the  Intendant  watching  her.  She  began  to  think  he 
remained  longer  in  the  society  of  Cadet  than  was  due  to 
herself. 

"  Thanks,  Mademoiselle,"  said  De  Pean,  hardly  know- 
ing whether  her  laugh  was  affirmative  or  negative  ;  "  but 
I  envy  Le  Gardeur  his  precedence." 

Angelique's  love  for  Le  Gardeur  was  the  only  key 
which  ever  unlocked  her  real  feelings.  When  the  fox 
praised  the  raven's  voice  and  prevailed  on  her  to  sing,  he 
did  not  more  surely  make  her  drop  the  envied  morsel  out 
of  her  mouth  than  did  Angelique  drop  the  mystification 
she  had  worn  so  coquettishly  before  De  Pean. 

"Tell  me,  De  Pean,"  said  she,  "is  it  true  or  not  that 
Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  is  consoling  himself  among  the 
woods  of  Tilly  witli  a  fair  cousin  of  his,  Heloise  de  Lot- 
biniere  ? " 

I  )e  Pean  had  his  revenge,  and  he  took  it.  "  It  is  true, 
and  no  wonder,"  said  he,  '*  they  say  Ileioise  is,  without  ex- 
ception, the  sweetest  girl  in  New  France,  if  not  one  of  the 
handsomest." 

"  Without  exception  !  "  echoed  she.  scornfully.  "The 
women  will  not  belie\e  that,  at  any  rate.  Chevalier.  I  do 
not  believe  it  for  one."  And  she  laughed  in  the  conscious- 
ness  of  beauty.     "  Do  you  believe  it  ?  " 

"  No,  that  were  impossible,"  replied  he,  "  while  Ange- 
lique des  Mtloises  chooses  to  contest  the  palm  of  beauty." 

"I  contest  no  palm  with  her,  Chevalier  ;  but  I  give  you 


\ 


348 


riiE  cm  EN  noR. 


this  rosebud  for  your  gallant  speech.  But,  tell  me,  what 
does  Le  Gardeur  think  of  this  wonderful  beauty?  Is  there 
any  talk  of  inarriai;e  ?  " 

"  There  is,  of  course,  much  talk  of  an  alliance."  De 
Pean  lied,  and  the  truth  hatl  been  better  for  hiin. 

Anj^elique  started  as  if  stuni;  by  a  wasp.  The  dance 
ceased  for  her,  and  she  hastened  to  a  seat.  *'  De  Pean," 
said  she,  "  you  promised  to  bring  Le  Gardeur  forthwith 
back  to  the  city;  will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  1  will  hx'wv^  him  back,  dead  or  alive,  if  you  desire  it; 
but  I  must  have  time.  That  uncompromisinj^^  Colonel 
Philibert  is  with  him.  His  sister,  too,  clings  to  him  like  a 
good  angel  to  the  skirt  of  a  sinner.  Since  you  desire  it " 
— De  Pean  spoke  it  with  bitterness — "  Le  Gardeur  shall 
come  back,  but  I  doubt  if  it  will  be  for  his  benefit  or  yours, 
Mademoiselle." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  De  Pean  ? "  asked  she,  abruptly, 
her  dark  eyes  alight  with  eager  curiosity,  not  unmingled 
with  apprehension.  "  Why  do  you  doubt  it  will  not  be  for 
his  benefit  or  mine  ?     Who  is  to  harm  him.'  " 

"  Nay,  he  will  only  harm  himself,  Angelique.  And,  by 
St.  Picot  !  he  will  have  ample  scope  for  doing  it  in  this 
city.  He  has  no  other  enemy  but  himself."  l3c  Pean  felt 
that  slie  was  making  an  ox  of  him  to  draw  the  plough  of 
her  scheming. 

"Are  you  sure  of  that,  De  Pean?"  demanded  she, 
sharjily. 

'•  (,)uite  sure.  Are  not  all  the  associates  of  the  Grand 
Company  his  fastest  friends  ?  Not  one  of  them  will  hurt 
him,  I  am  sure." 

"Ciie\alier  De  Pean!"  said  she,  noticing  the  slight 
shrug  he  gave  when  he  said  this,  "  Vou  say  Le  Gardeur 
has  no  enemy  but  himself  ;  if  so,  I  hope  to  save  him  from 
himself,  nothing  more.  Therefore,  I  want  him  back  to  the 
city." 

De  Pean  glanced  towards  Bigot.  "  Pardon  me,  Made- 
moiselle. Did  the  Intendant  never  speak  to  you  of  Le 
Gardeur's  abrujjt  departure  ?  "  asked  he. 

''Never!  •  He  has  spoken  to  you  though.  What  did 
he  say?  "  asked  she,  with  eager  curiosity, 

'"  He  said  that  you  might  have  detained  him  had  you 
wished,  and  he  blamed  you  for  his  departure." 

De  Pean  had  a  suspicion  that  Angelique  had  really 


"  ON  WITH  THE  DAXCE. 


349 


, 


been  instrumental  in  withdrawing  Lc  Oardcur  from  the 
clutclics  of  himself  and  associates  ;  but  in  this  he  erred. 
AnL^elicp.  •  loved  Le  Gardeur,  \t  least  for  her  own  sake  if 
not  for  his,  and  would  have  preferred  he  should  risk  all  the 
daniicrs  of  the  citv  to  avoid  what  she  deemed  tiie  still 
greater  dan<^ers  of  the  country;  and  the  i^reatest  of  these 
in  her  oi)inion  was  the  fair  face  of  Ileloise  cle  Lotl)iniere. 
^  While,  from  nK)tives  of  ambition,  Anj;eli(]ue  refused  to 
marry  him  herself,  she  could  not  bear  the  thought  of 
another  ji;ettin2;  the  man  whom  she  had  rejected. 

l)e  I'ean  was  fairly  j)u/-/led  by  her  caprices.  He  could 
not  fathom,  but  lie  dared  not  oppose  them. 

At  this  moment  Bigot,  who  had  waited  for  the  con- 
clusion of  a  game  of  cards,  rejoined  the  group  where  she 
sat. 

Angelique  drew  in  her  robe  and  made  room  for  him 
beside  her,  and  was  presently  laughing  and  talking  as  free 
from  care,  apparently,  as  an  oriole  warbling  on  a  summer 
spray.  I)e  Pean  courteously  withdrew,  leaving  her  alone 
with  the  Intendant. 

])igot  was  charmed  for  the  moment  into  oblivion  of  the 
lady  who  sat  in  her  secluded  chamber  at  ]k*aumanoir. 
He  forgot  his  late  ([uarrel  with  Ange'lique  in  admiratic^i 
of  her  beauty.  The  pU;asure  he  took  in  her  presence  shed 
a  livelier  glow  of  light  across  his  features.  She  observed 
it  and  a  renewed  hope  of  triumph  lifted  her  into  still 
higher  flijrhts  of  gavetv. 

"  Angeliciue,"  said  he,  offering  his  arm  to  conduct  her 
to  the  gorgeous  buffet  which  stood  loaded  with  golden 
dishes  of  fruit,  vases  of  flowers,  and  the  choicest  con- 
fectionary, with  wine  fit  for  a  feast  of  Cyprus,  "you  are 
hapi^y  to-night,"  are  you  not,  '"  but  perfect  bliss  is  only 
obtained  by  a  judicious  mixture  of  earth  and  heaven, 
pledge  me  gayly  now  in  this  golden  wine,  Angelique,  and 
ask  me  what  favor  you  will." 

"  And  you  will  grant  it  ?''  asked  she,  turning  her  eyes 
upon  him  eagerly. 

"  Like  the  king  in  the  fairy  tale,  even  to  my  dauv,hter 
and  half  of  my  kingdom,"  replied  he,  gayly. 

•'Thanks  for  half  the  kingdom.  Chevalier,"  laughed 
she ;  "  but  I  would  prefer  the  father  to  the  daughter." 
Angelique  gave  him  a  look  of  ineffable  meaning,  "  I  do 
not  desire  a  king  to-night,  however.  Grant  me  the  L'ttre  de 
cachet^  and  then —  " 


fl 

■ 

I 

H 

H 

fl 


31 


I 


350 


Tim  CIIIEX  D'OR. 


"  And  then  wliat,  An;;cliquc  ?  "  lie  ventured  to  take 
her  hand   which   seemed   to  tempt    the    approach   of    his. 

"  Von  shall  have  vour  reward.  I  ask  vou  for  a  Icttrede 
cachet^  that  is  all."  She  suflered  lier  hand  to  remain  in 
his. 

"  I  cannot,"  he  replied    sharply  to  her  urgent  repe- 
tition.    "  Ask  her  banishment  from  Beaumanoir,  her  life  if 
you  like,  but   a  Ictiic  dc  cachet  to  send  her  to  the  Bastile^ 
1  cannot  and  will  not  give  !  " 

"  But  I  ask  it,  nevertheless!"  replied  the  wilful,  pas- 
sionate girl,  "there  is  no  merit  in  your  love  if  it  f.'ars 
risk  or  brooks  denial  !  You  ask  me  to  make  sacrifices,  and 
will  not  lift  }our  linger  to  remove  that  stumbling  block 
out  of  my  way!  A  fig  for  such  love,  Chevalier  Bigot  !  If  1 
were  a  man  there  is  nothing  in  earth,  heaven,  or  hell  I 
would  not  do  for  tlu-  woman  I  loved  !  " 

Angi'lique  fixed  her  blazing  eyes  full  upon  him,  but 
magnetic  as  was  their  fire,  they  drew  no  satisfying  reply. 
"Who  in  Heaven's  name  is  this  lady  of  Beaumanoir  of 
whom  you  are  so  careful  or  so  afraid  .''  " 

"  1  cannot  tell  you,  Angelique,"  said  he,  quite  irritated, 
"she  may  be  a  runaway  nun,  or  the  wife  of  the  man  in 
the  iron  mask,  or —  " 

"  Or  any  other  fiction  you  please  to  tell  me  in  the  stead 
of  truth,  and  which  proves  your  love  to  be  the  greatest 
fiction  of  all  !  " 

'*  Do  not  be  so  angry,  Angelique,"  said  he,  soothingly, 
seeing  the  need  of  calming  down  this  impetuous  spirit, 
which  he  was  driving  beyond  all  bounds.  But  he  had 
carelessly  dropped  a  word  which  she  picked  up  eagerly 
and  treasured  in  her  bosom.  "Her  life  ! — he  said  he  would 
give  me  her  life  !  did  he  mean  it?  "  thought  she,  absorbed 
in  this  new  idea. 

Ange'lique  had  clutched  the  word  with  a  feeling  of 
terrible  import.  It  was  not  the  first  time  the  thought  had 
flashed  its  lurid  light  across  her  mind.  It  had  seemed 
of  com[)aratively  light  import  when  it  was  only  the 
sufr<restion  of  her  own  wild  resentment.  It  seemed  a 
word  of  terrible  power  heard  from  the  lips  of  Bigot,  yet 
AngcMicjue  knew  well  he  did  not  in  the  least  seriously 
mean  what  he  said. 

*'  It  is  but  his  deceit  and  flattery,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  an 
idle  phrase  to  cozen  a  woman.  I  will  not  ask  him  to  explain 


"C?iV  WITH  THE  DAiVCEr 


351 


it,  I  shall  interpret  it  in  my  own  \v  ly  !  Hiujot  has  said  words 
he  understood  nol  himself ;  it  is  fur  me  to  give  them  form 
and  nieaninir." 

She  grew  quiet  under  these  reflections  and  bent  her 
head  in  seemin^j  accjuiescence  to  the  Intendanl's  decision. 
The  calmness  was  apparent  only. 

'*  V'ou  are  a  true  woman,  Angelique,"  slid  he,  "but  no 
politician:  you  have  never  heard  thunder  at  Versailles. 
Would  that  I  dared  to  grant  your  request.  I  offer  you 
my  homage  and  all  else  I  have  to  give  you  to  half  my 
kingdom." 

Angeliciue's  eyes  flashed  (Ire.  "  It  is  a  fairy  tale  after 
all  !  "  exclaimed  ;  she  "  you  will  not  grant  the  Idtfe  de 
cachet  /  " 

"  As  I  told  you  before,  \  dare  not  grant  that,  Angelique; 
anything  else —  " 

"You  dare  not!  vou  the  boldest  Intendant  ever  sent 
to  New  France,  and  say  you  dare  not  !  A  man  who  is 
worth  the  name  dare  do  anything  in  the  world  for  a  woman 
if  he  loves  her,  and  for  such  a  man  a  true  woman  will  kiss 
the  ground  he  walks  on  and  die  at  his  feet  if  need  be  !  " 
Angelique's  thoughts  reverted  for  a  moment  to  Le 
Gardeur,  not  to  Higot,  as  she  said  this,  and  thought  how 
he  would  do  it  for  her  sake  if  she  asked  him. 

"  My  (lod,  Angelique,  you  dri\e  this  matter  hard,  but 
I  like  you  better  so,  than  when  you  are  in  your  silkiest 
humor." 

"  Bigot,  it  were  better  you  had  granted  my  request." 
Angelique  clenched  her  lingers  hard  together,  and  a  cruel 
expression  lit  her  eyes  for  a  moment.  It  was  like  the 
glance  of  a  Lynx  seeking  a  hidden  treasure  in  the  ground. 
It  penetrated  the  thick  walls  of  JJjaumanoir.  She  sup- 
pressed her  anger,  however,  lest  Bigot  should  guess  the 
dark  imaginings  and  half  formed  resolution  which  brooded 
in  her  mind. 

With  her  inimitable  power  of  transformation  she  put  on 
her  air  of  gayety  again  and  exclaimed  :  "  Pshaw  !  let  it  go, 
Bigot.  I  am  really  no  politician  as  y(Ai  s  ly,  I  am  only  a  wom- 
an almost  stifled  with  the  heat  and  closeness  of  this  horrid 
ballroom.  Thank  God,  day  is  dawning  in  the  great  east- 
ern window  yonder,  the  dancers  are  beginning  to  depart, 
My  brother  is  waiting  for  me,  I  see,  so  1  nuist  leave  you, 
Chevalier." 


Ill 


h 


352 


T//E  CHI  EN  nOR. 


"Do  not  depart  just  now,  Ani^elique!  wait  until 
breakfast,  wliicli  will  he  iM-e|-)ared  for  the  latest  rjuests." 

"  Thanks,  Clievalit-r,"  said  she,  "  I  cannot  wait.     It  has 

been  a  ^ay  and  deliijjlitful  ball— to  them  who   enjoyed   it." 

"  Anionu;  whom  you  were  one,  I  hope,"  replied  Bi;;ot. 

"  Ves,  1   only  wanted   one  thin;;  to  be  perfectly  happy, 

and  that  I  could  not  ^et,  so  1  must  console    myself,"   said 

she,  with  an  air  of  mock  resignation. 

Bigot  looked  at  her  and  lau;;h('d,  but  he  woidd  not  ask 
what  it  was  she  lacked.  He  did  not  want  a  scene,  and 
feared  to  excite  her  wrath  by  mention  a^ain  of  the  ^'*frc  tie 
cachet. 

"  Let  me  accompany  you  to  the  carriage,  Ar  aC," 

said  he,  handing  her  cloak  and  assisting  her  to  ,.ui  .v  on. 

"Willingly,  Chevalier,"  replied  she  coquettishly,  "but 
the  Che\alier  de  Pean  will  accom]:)any  me  to  the  door  of 
the  dressing-room.  I  promised  him."  She  had  not,  but 
she  beckoned  with  her  finger  to  him.  She  had  a  last 
injunction  for  De  Pean  which  she  cared  not  that  the 
Intendant  should  hear. 

De  I'ean  was  reconciled  by  this  manoeuvre,  he  came, 
and  Angelique  and  he  tripped  off  together.  "  Mind,  De 
Pean,  what  I  asked  you  about  Le  Gardeur  I"  said  she,  in 
an  emphatic  whisper. 

"  1  will  not  forget,"  replied  he  with  a  twinge  of 
jealousy,  "  Le  Gardeur  shall  come  back  in  a  few  days  or 
De  Pean  has  lost  his  influence  and  cunning." 

Angelicjue  gave  him  a  sharp  glance  of  approval,  but 
made  no  further  remark.  A  crowd  of  voluble  ladies  were 
all  telling  over  the  incidents  of  the  ball  as  exciting  as  any 
incidents  of  fiood  and  field  while  they  arranged  themselves 
for  departure. 

The  ball  was  fast  thinning  out.  The  fair  daughters  of 
Quebec,  with  disordered  hair  and  drooping  wreaths,  loose 
sandals  and  dresses  looped  and  pinned  to  hide  chance 
rents  or  other  accidents  of  a  long  night's  dancing,  were 
retiring  to  their  rooms  or  issuing  from  them,  hooded  and 
mantled,  attended  by  obsequious  cavaliers  to  accompany 
them  home. 

The  musicians  tired  out  and  half  asleep  drew  their 
bows  slowly  across  their  violins,  the  very  music  was  steep- 
ed in  weariness.  The  lamps  grew  dim  in  the  rays  of 
morning,    which    struggled    through    the    high   windows, 


"  CALLING  A  RA  VEAOUS  BIRD,*'  ETC. 


353 


while  min^linfT  with  the  hist  strains  of  good  night  and 
^w /r/>f>.f,  canu' a  noise  of  wheels  and  the  loud  shouts  of 
valets  and  coaciunen  out  in  the  fresh  air,  who  crowded 
round  the  doors  of  the  palace  to  convey  home  tiie  gay 
revellers  who  had  tha^  night  graced  the  splendid  halls  of 
the  Intendant. 

Bigot  stood  at  the  door  bowing  farewell  and  thanks  to 
the  fair  company,  when  the  tall  queiMily  figure  of  Angeliriue 
came  down  leaning  (.n  the  arm  of  the  C'lievalier  de  Pean, 
Bigot  tendered  her  his  arm,  which  she  at  once  accepted, 
and  he  accompanied  her  to  her  carriage. 

She  bowed  graciously  to  the  Intendant  and  I)e  Pean, 
on  her  departure,  but  no  sooner  had  she  driven  off,  than, 
throwing  herself  back  in  her  carriage,  heedless  of  the 
presence  of  her  brother  who  accompfnied  her  home,  sunk 
into  a  silent  train  of  thougiits  from  .viiich  she  was  roused 
with  a  start,  when  the  carriage  drew  up  sharply  at  the 
door  of  their  own  home. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


"calling  a  ravenous  bird  from  the  east." 


Angeltque  scarcely  noticed  her  brother  except  to  bid 
him  good  night,  when  she  left  him  in  the  vestibule  of  the 
mansion,  (fathering  her  gay  robes  in  her  jew(>lled  hand 
she  darted  up  the  broad  stairs  to  her  own  apartment,  the 
same  in  which  she  had  received  Le  Gardeur  on  that  memor- 
able night  in  which  she  crossed  the  Rubicon  of  her  fate, 
when  she  deliberately  severed  the  only  tie  which  would 
have  bound  her  to  virtue  and  honor,  by  seeking  the  happi- 
ness of  Le  Gardeur  above  all  considerations  of  self. 

There  was  a  fixedness  in  her  look  and  a  recklessness 
in  her  step  that  showed  anger  and  determination.  It 
struck  Lizette  with  a  sort  of  awe,  so  that  for  once,  she  did 
not  dare  to  accost  her  young  mistress  with  her  usual  free- 
dom. The  maid  opened  the  door  and  closed  it  again  vvith- 
out  offering  a  word,  waiting  in  the  ante-room  until  a  sum- 
mons should  come  from  her  mistress. 

23 


354 


THE  cm  EN  no  A'. 


LIzolte  observed  that  she  had  thrown  herself  Into  a 
faiiteuil,  after  Iiaslily  eastiii;^;  off  her  mantle  which  hiy  at 
her  feet.  Ilrr  Vnv^  hair  hiiii;;'  loose  over  her  shoiiUlers  as 
it  parted  from  all  its  oiubs  anil  fastenin;jjs.  She  held  her 
hands  clasped  hard  across  her  forehead  and  stared  with 
fixed  eyes  upon  the  hre  which  burned  low  on  the  hearth, 
flickerini;  in  the  depths  of  the  anti(jue  fireplace  and  occa- 
sionally sending;  a  llash  throuj;h  the  room  which  lit  up  the 
pictures  on  the  wall  seeming  to  {j^ive  them  life  and  move- 
ment, as  if  they,  too,  would  j;ladly  have  tempted  An^elicjue 
to  belter  thoui;hts.  l>ut  she  noticed  them  not,  and  would 
not  at  that  moment  have  endured  to  lo(jk  at  them. 

Anj;eli(iuc  had  forbidden  the  lamps  to  be  li:;Iited,  It 
suited  her  mood  to  sit  in  the  half  obscure  room,  and  in 
truth  her  thoughts  were  hard  and  cruel,  fit  only  to  be 
brooded  over  in  darkness  and  alone.  We  are  inlluenced 
by  an  inscrutable  instinct,  if  the  term  maybe  used,  to  make 
our  surroundinj^s  an  image  of  ourselves,  the  outward  pro- 
jection of  our  habitual  thoughts,  moods  and  passions. 

The  l)road  glare  of  the  lamps  would  have  been  at  this 
moment  hateful  to  Angeliciue.  The  lurid  flickering  and 
flashing  of  the  dim  lircliglu  resembled  most  her  own 
thoughts  and  as  her  vivid  fancy  fastened  its  eye  upon  the 
embers,  they  seemed  to  change  into  images  of  all  the 
evil  things  her  imagination  projected.  She  clencht'd  her 
hands  and  raising  them  al)ove  her  head,  muttered  an  oath 
between  her  teeth,  exclaiming  : 

'"'' Par  Dicn  !  ft  must  be  done!  It  must  be  done  !  " 
She  stopped  suddenly  when  she  had  said  th it.  "  What 
must  be  done  .' "  asked  she  sharply  of  herself,  and  laughed 
a  mockinjz  laugh.  "Me  gave  me  her  life  !  Hj  did  n^t 
mean  it!  no  !  The  Intendentwas  treating  me  like  a  netted 
child.  He  offered  mo  her  life  while  he  refused  m.*  i  L'ttre 
dc  caclid !  The  gift  was  only  upon  his  false  lips,  not  in  his 
heart !  but  IJigot  shall  keep  that  promise  in  spite  of  him- 
self.    There  is  no  other  way — none — !" 

In  the  upheaval  of  her  troubled  mind,  the  image  of  her 
old  confessor.  Father  Vimont,  rose  up  for  a  moment  with 
signs  of  w^arning  in  his  lifted  finger,  as  when  he  used  to 
reprove  her  for  venial  sins  and  childish  follies.  Angelique 
turned  away  impatiently  from  the  recollection.  She  would 
not,  in  imagination  even,  lay  hold  of  the  spiritual  hand, 
which  seemed  to  reach  forward  to  pluck  her  from  the 
chasm  toward  which  she  was  hurrying. 


••  CALLING  A  RAVENOUS  B/KD,"  ETC 


355 


This  was  a  new  world  .\iijj;cliquc  suddenly  found  her- 
self in.  A  world  of  .!j;iiilly  lh()ui;hls  and  unresisted  temp- 
tations, a  chaotic  worKI  where  bluk,  unscalable  roc:ks,  like 
a  circle  of  the  Inferno  hemmed  her  in  on  every  side,  while 
devils  whis|jered  in  her  ears  the  words  which  >^ave  shape 
and  substance  to  her  secret  wishes  for  the  death  of  her 
"  rival,"  as  she  regarded  the  poor  sick  |j;irl  at  IJ.-aiunanoir. 

How  was  she  to  accomplish  it?  To  one  impractised  in 
actual  deeds  of  wickedness,  it  was  a  question  not  easy  to 
be  answered,  and  a  thousand  fri^jjlufid  f.)rms  of  e\il,  stalking 
sh.ipes  of  dealli  came  and  went  before  her  ima<;ination, 
and  she  clutched  fust  at  one,  then  at  another  of  the  dire 
sugji;estions  that  came  in  crowds  that  overwhelmed  her 
power  of  choice. 

In  desj^air  to  '[\\u\  an  answer  to  the  question,  "  What 
nuist  l>e  done  ?  "  she  rose  suddenly  and  x\\\v^  the  bell. 
The  door  opened  and  the  smilin<j;  face  and  clear  eye  of 
Lizette  looked  in.  It  was  Anij;eli(iue's  last  chance,  but  it 
was  lost.  It  was  not  Lizette  she  had  rung  for.  Her  reso- 
lution was  taken. 

"  My  dear  mistress  !  "  exclaimed  Lizette,  '*  I  feared  you 
had  fallen  asleeiD.  It  is  almost  dav  !  Mav  I  now  assist  vou 
to  undress  for  bed  ?  Voluble  Lizette  did  not  always  wait 
to  be  lirst  spoken  to  by  her  mistress. 

"  No  Lizette,  I  was  not  aslee[)  ;  I  do  not  want  to  un- 
dress;  1  have  much  to  do.  I  have  writing  to  do  before  I 
retire ;  send  Fanchon  Dodier  here."  Ange'liqie  had  a 
forecast  that  it  was  necessary  to  deceive  Lizette,  who,  with- 
out a  word,  but  in  no  serene  humor  went  to  summon  Fan- 
chon to  wait  on  her  mistress. 

Fanchon  presentl;,  jame  in  with  a  sort  of  triumph  glit- 
tering in  her  black  eye.  She  had  noticed  the  ill  humor  of 
Lizette,  but  had  not  the  slightest  idea  why  she  had  been 
summoned  to  wait  on  Angelique,  instead  ot  her  own  maid. 
She  esteemed  it  quite  an  honor,  however. 

"Fanchon  Doilier  !  "  said  she,  '*  I  have  lost  my  jewels 
at  the  ball  ;  1  cannot  rest  until  I  lind  them  ;  you  are 
quicker  witted  than  Lizette,  tell  me  what  to  do  to  find  them 
and  I  will  give  you  a  dress  tit  for  a  lady." 

Angelique  with  innate  craft  knew  that  her  question 
would  bring  forth  the  hoped  for  reply. 

Fanchon's  eyes  dilated  with  pleasure  at  such  a  mark  of 
confidence.     "  Yes,  my  Lady,"  replied  she,  "if  I  had  lost 


3S^ 


THE  C III  EN  n  OR. 


\% 


li!' 


i'-i 


my  jewels  I  should  know  what  to  do.  But  ladies  who  can 
reacl  and  write  and  who  have  the  wisest  gentlemen  to  f^ive 
them  counsL'i  do  not  need  to  seek  advice  where  poor  lialntant 
girls  go  when  in   trouble  and  perplexity." 

*'  And  where  is  that,  Fanchon  ?  where  would  you  go  if 
in  trouble  and  perplexity?" 

"My  Lady,  it"  1  had  lost  all  my  jevv^els," — Fanchon's 
keen  eye  noticed  that  Angel ique  had  lost  none  of  hers, 
but  she  matlc  no  remark  on  it,  "if  I  had  lost  all  mine, 
I  should  go  see  my  Aunt  Josephte  Dodier.  She  is  the 
wisest  woman  in  all  St.  Valier.  If  she  cannot  tell  you,  all 
you  wish  to  know,  nobody  can." 

"  What !  Dame  Josephte  Dodier,  whom  they  call  La 
Corriveau?    Is  she  your  aunt?" 

Angelique  knew  very  well  she  was.  But  it  was  her  cue 
to  pretend  ignorance  in  order  to  impose  on  Fanchon. 

"  Yes,  ill  natured  peojjle  call  her  La  Corriveau,  but  she 
is  my  aunt  nevertheless.  She  is  married  to  my  uncle 
Louis  Dodier,  but  is  a  lady,  by  right  of  her  mother,  who 
came  from  France,  and  was  once  familiar  with  all  the  great 
dames  of  the  Court.  It  was  a  great  secret  whv  her  motiier 
left  France,  and  came  to  St.  Valier;  but  I  never  knew  what 
it  was.  People  used  to  shake  their  heads  and  cross  them- 
selves when  sj)eaking  of  her,  as  the}'  do  now  when  speaking 
of  Aunt  Josephte,  wliom  they  call  La  Corriveau  ;  but  tiiey 
tremble  wiien  she  looks  at  them  witii  her  black  evil  eye,  as 
they  call  it.  She  is  a  terrible  woman,  is  Aunt  Josephte  ! 
but  (),  Mademoiselle,  she  can  tell  you  diings  past,  present, 
and  to  come.  If  she  rails  at  the  world,  it  is  because  she 
knows  every  wicked  thing  that  is  done  in  it,  and  the  world 
rails  at  her  in  return ;  but  people  are  afraid  of  her  all  the 
same." 

"  But  is  it  not  wicked  ?  Is  it  not  forbidden  bv  the 
church  to  consult  a  woman  like  her,  -x  sorcicfc  i  Ange- 
lique took  a  sort  of  perverse  merit  to  herself  for  arguing 
against  lie  own  resolution. 

"Yes,  my  lady!  but  although  forbidden  by  the  church, 
the  girls  all  consult  her,  neverlheless,  in  their  losses  and 
crosses  ;  and  many  of  the  men,  too,  for  she  does  know  what 
is  to  happen,  and  how  to  do  things,  does  Aunt  Josei;)hte. 
If  the  clergy  cannot  tell  a  poor  girl  about  her  sweetheart, 
and  how  to  keep  him  in  hand,  wliy  should  she  not  go  and 
consult  La  Corriveau,  who  can  ?  " 


"  CALLIXG  A  RAVENOUS  BIRD;'  ETC.  357 

"  Fanchon,  I  would  not  care  to  consult  your  aunt. 
People  would  laugh  at  my  consulting  La  Corriveau,  like  a 
simple  habitant  girl  ;    what  would  the  world  say  ?  " 

"  I)Ut  the  world  need  not  know,  my  Lady.  Aunt  Jose- 
phte  knows  secrets  they  say,  that  w^ould  ruin,  burn,  and 
hang  half  the  ladies  of  Paris.  Slie  learned  those  terrible 
secrets  from  her  mother,  but  she  keeps  them  safe  in  those 
close  lips  of  hers.  Not  the  faintest  whisper  of  one  of  them 
has  ever  been  heard  by  her  nearest  neighbor.  Lideed  she 
has  no  gossips,  and  makes  no  friends,  and  wauls  none. 
Aunt  Josephte  is  a  safe  confidante,  my  Lady,  if  you  wish  to 
consult  her." 

"  I  have  heard  she  is  clever,  supernatural,  terrible,  this 
aunt  of  yours  !  But  I  could  not  go  to  St.  Valier  for  advice 
and  help,  I  could  not  conceal  my  movements  like  a  plain 
habitant  girl." 

"  Indeed,  my  Lady,"  replied  Fanchon,  touched  by  som'^ 
personal  remini  ence,  "a  habitant  girl  cannot  conceal 
her  movements  any  more  than  a  great  lady.  A  girl  cannot 
stir  a  step  but  all  the  Parish  is  lookinf^  at  her  !  If  she 
goes  to  church  an'  just  looks  across  at  a  young  man  they 
say  she  went  to  see  him  !  If  she  stays  away  they  say  she 
is  afraid  to  see  him.  If  she  visits  a  neighbor  it  is  in  the 
hope  of  meeting  him.  If  she  remains  at  home  it  is  to  wait 
for  him  ;  but  habitant girh  do  not  care,  my  lady.  If  they 
throw  the  net  they  catch  the  lish  sometimes !  So  it 
matter's  not  what  people  say  and  in  revenge  we  talk  about 
others  as  fast  as  others  talk  about  us." 

"  I)Ut,  my  lady,"  continued  Fanchon,  remembering  the 
objection  of  her  mistress,  "  it  is  not  fitting  that  you  should 
go  to  Aunt  Josephte.  I  will  bring  Aunt  Josephte  here  to 
you.  She  will  be  charmed  to  come  to  the  city  and  serve  a 
lady  like  you." 

"  Well  !  no  !  it  is  not  well  ;  but  ill  !  but  I  want  to  recov- 
er my  jewels,  so  go  for  your  Aunt  and  bring  her  back  with 
you.  And  mind,  Fanchon  !  "  said  Angelicine.  lifting  a  warn- 
ing finger,  "  if  you  utter  one  word  of  your  errand  to  man 
or  beast  or  to  the  very  trees  of  the  way  side,  1  will  cut 
out  your  tongue,  Fanchon  Dodier  !  " 

Fanchon  trembled  and  grew  pale  at  the  fierce  look  of 
her  mistress.  "  I  will  go,  my  lady,  and  I  will  kc  p  silent  as 
a  fish  !  "  faltered  the  maid,  "  Sha'l  I  go  immediately  ? " 

"  Immediately  if  you  will  I     It  is  almost  day  and  you 


m 


i 


T 


I 


fl;,,  f.f 


353 


T//E  cm  EN  D'OR. 


have  far  to  f^o.  I  will  send  old  Gujon  the  butler  to  order  an 
Indian  canoe  for  you.  I  will  not  have  Canadian  boatmen 
to  row  you  to  St.  Valicr ;  they  would  talk  you  out  of  all  your 
errand  before  you  were  half  way  there.  You  shall  j^o  to  St. 
Valier  by  water  and  return  with  LaCorriveau  by  land.  Do 
you  understand  ?  Bring  her  in  to-night  and  not  before 
midnight.  I  will  leave  the  door  ajar  for  you  to  enter  with- 
out noise  ;  you  will  show  her  at  once  to  my  apartnient 
Fanchon  !  Be  wary  and  do  not  delay,  and  say  not  a 
word  to  mortal !  " 

"  I  will  not,  my  Lady.  Not  a  mouse  shall  hear  us  come 
in!  "  replied  Fanchon,  quite  proud  now  of  tiie  secret  under- 
standing between  herself  and  her  mistress. 

"  And  again  mind  that  loose  tongue  of  yours  !  Remember 
Fanchon,  1  will  cut  it  out  as  sure  as  you  live  if  you  betray 
me." 

"  Yes,  my  lady !  "  Fanchon's  tongue  felt  somewhat 
paralysed  under  the  threat  of  Ange'lique,  and  she  bit  it 
painfully  as  if  to  remind  it  of  its  duty. 

"  You  may  go  now,"  said  Angelique.  "  Here  is  money  for 
you.  Give  this  piece  of  gold  to  La  Corriveau  as  an  earnest 
that  I  want  her !  The  Canotiers  of  the  St.  Lawrence  will 
also  require  double  fare  for  bringing  La  Corriveau  over  the 
ferry. 

"  No,  they  rarely  venture  to  charge  her  anything  at  all, 
my  Latly,"  replied  Fanchon  ;  "  to  be  sure  it  is  not  for  love, 
but  they  are  afraid  of  her.  And  yet  Antoine  La  Chance,  the 
boatman,  says  she  is  equal  to  a  Bishop  for  stirring  up  piety  ; 
and  more  Are  Marias  are  repeated  when  she  is  in  his 
boat  than  are  said  by  the  whole  Parish  on  Sunday. 

"  I  ought  to  say  my  ^ivc  Marias,ioo  !  "  replied  Angelique, 
as  Fanchon  left  the  apartment.  "  But  my  mouth  is  parched 
and  burns  up  the  words  of  prayer  like  a  furnace,  but  that 
is  nothing  to  the  fire  in  my  heart !  That  girl,  Fanchon 
Dodier,  is  not  to  be  trusted,  but  1  have  no  other  messenger 
to  send  for  La  Corriveau.  I  must  be  wary  with  her  too 
and  make  her  suggest  the  thing  I  would  have  done.  My 
Lady  of  Beaumanoiri"  she  apostrophized  in  a  hard  mono- 
tone, "your  fate  does  not  dejicnd  on  the  IiUendant  as  you 
fondly  imagine.  Better  had  he  issued  the  Ictirc  dc  cachet 
than  for  you  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  La  Corriveau  1  " 

Daylight  no\/  shot  into  the  windows  and  the  bright  rays 
of  the  rising  sun  streamed  full  in  the  face  of  Ange'lique, 


"CALLING  A  RAVENOUS  BIRD;'  ETC. 


359 


She  saw  herself  rcliected  in  the  large  Venetian  mirror.  Her 
countenance  looked  pale,  stern  and  fixed  as  marble.  The 
fire  in  her  eyes  startled  her  with  its  unearthly  c;"low.  She 
trend)led  and  turned  away  from  her  mirror  and  crept  to  her 
couch  like  a  guilty  thing  with  a  feeling  as  if  she  was  old, 
ha;rirard  and  doomed  to  shame  for  the  sake  of  this  Intend- 
ant,  who  cared  not  for  her,  or  he  would  not  have  driven 
her  to  such  desperate  and  wicked  courses  as  never  fell  to 
the  lot  of  a  woman  before.'' 

"  Cest  la  fiiutca  iui !  C'cst  la  faiik  a  lui!^''  exclaimed 
she,  clasping  her  hands  passionately  together.  "If  she 
dies,  it  is  his  fault  not  mine  !  I  prayed  him  to  banish  her 
and  he  would  not !  C'est  la  f ante  a  Ini  !  C'cst  la  fatitc  a  lut  ' 
Repeating  these  words  Angelique  fell  into  a  feverish  slum- 
ber, broken  by  frightful  dreams  which  lasted  far  on  into 
the  day. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


LA    CORP'VEAU. 


The  long  reign  of  Louis  Quatorze,  full  of  glories  and 
misfortunes  for  France,  was  marked  towards  its  close  by  a 
portentous  sign  indicative  of  corrupt  manners  and  a  falling 
state.  Among  these  the  crimes  of  secret  poisoning  sudden- 
ly attained  a  magnitude  which  filled  the  whole  nation  with 
terror  and  alarm- 
Antonio  K\ili,  an  Italian,  like  manv  other  alchemists 
of  that  period,  had  s[)ent  years  in  search  of  tiie  philosopher's 
stone  and  the  elixir  of  life.  His  vain  experiments  to  trans- 
mute the  baser  metals  into  gold  reduced  him  to  poverty 
and  want.  His  quest  after  these  secrets  had  led  him  to  study 
deeply  the  nature  and  composition  of  jjcjisons  and  their 
antidotes.  He  had  visited  the  great  universities  and  other 
schools  of  the  C(mtineut,  finisliing  his  scientific  studies 
under  a  famous  German  Chemist  named  (ih;ser.  But  the 
terrible  secret  of  the  Atjiia  Tofaiia  and  of  the  J\)udrt  dg 
suciL'ssion,  Exili  learned  from  IJeatrice  Sp  tra,  a  Sicilian, 
with  whom  he  had  a  liaison,  one  of  those  inscrutable  beings 
of  the  gentler  sex  whose  lust  for  pleasure  or  power  is  only 


360 


THE  CI//E1V  D'OR. 


-*s..*.!i 


equalled  by  the  atrocities  they  are  willing  to  perpetrate 
upon  all  who  stand  in  the  way  of  their  desires  or  their 
ambition. 

To  Beatrice  Spara,  the  secret  of  this  subtle  prepara- 
tion had  come  down  like  an  evil  inheritance  from  the  an- 
cient Candidas  and  Saganas  of  imperial  Rome.  In  the 
p:oud  palaces  of  the  Borgias,  of  the  Orsinis,  the  Scaligers, 
tlie  Borromeos,  the  art  of  poisoning  was  preserved  among 
the  last  resorts  of  Machiavellian  statecraft ;  and  not  only  in 
pal  ices  but  in  by  streets  of  Italian  cities  ;  in  solitary  towers 
and  dark  recesses  of  the  Appenines  were  still  to  be  found 
the  lost  children  of  science,  skilful  compounders  of  poisons, 
at  onc>^  fatal  and  subtle  in  their  operation — -jjoisons  which 
left  not  the  least  trace  of  their  presence  in  the  bodies  of 
their  victims,  but  put  on  t'  appearance  of  other  and  more 
natural  causes  of  death. 

Exili,  to  escape  the  vengeance  of  Beatrice  Spara,  to 
wh.om  he  had  proved  a  faithless  lover,  fied  from  Naples 
and  brought  his  deadly  knowledge  to  Paris,  where  he  soon 
fouiul  congenial  spirits  to  work  with  him  in  preparing  the 
deadly  poudrc  dc  succession^  and  the  colorless  drops  of  the 
A:/i(a  Tofiina. 

With  all  his  crafty  caution,  Exili  fell  at  last  under  sus- 
picion of  the  police,  for  tampering  in  these  foi bidden  arts. 
He  was  arrested  and  thrown  into  the  Bastile,  ^  here  he  be- 
came the  occupant  of  the  same  cell  with  Gaudin  de  St. 
Croix,  a  young  nobleman  of  the  Court,  the  lover  of  the 
Marchioness  de  Brinvilliers,  for  an  intrigue  with  whom  the 
Count  had  been  imprisoned.'  St.  Croix  learned  from  Exili, 
in  tlie  B.islile,  the  secret  of  iha  poudrc  de  succession. 

I'iie  two  men  were  at  last  liberated  for  want  of  proof  of 
the  charges  against  them.  St,  Croix  set  up  a  laboratory 
i  1  !iis  own  house,  and  at  once  proceeded  to  experiment 
upon  the  terrible  secrets  learned  from  Exili,  and  which  he 
revealed  to  his  fair,  frail  mistress,  who,  mad  to  make  her- 
self his  wife,  saw  in  these  a  means  to  remove  every  obstacle 
out  of  the  way.  She  poisoned  her  husband,  her  father,  her 
brother,  and  at  last,  carried  away  by  a  mania  for  murder, 
administered  on  all  sides  the  ixixX  poudre dc  succession  which 
brought  death  to  House,  Palace  and  Hospital,  and  tilled 
the  capital,  nay  the  whole  kingdom  with  suspicion  and  ter- 
ror. 

This  fatal  poison  history  describes  as  either  a  light  and 


''CALLING  A  RAVEXOUS  BIRD,"  ETC. 


361 


almost  impalpable  powder,  tasteless,  colorless  and  inodor- 
ous, or  a  liciuid  clear  as  a  dew  drop,  when  in  the  form  of 
the  Aqiiii  To/ana.  It  was  capaljle  of  causinj;  death  either 
instantaneously  or  by  slow  :fnd  linjj^erin<^  decline  at  the  end 
of  a  definite  number  of  days,  weeks,  ox  even  months,  as 
was  desired.  Death  was  not  less  sure  because  deferred,  and 
it  could  be  made  toassume  the  appearance  of  dumb  paraly- 
sis, wasting  atrophy,  or  burning  fever  at  the  discretion  of 
the  compounder  of  the  fatal  poison. 

The  ordinary  effect  of  the  Aqua  Tofanii  was  immediate 
death.  The  poiidrc  dc  succession  was  more  slow  in  killing. 
It  produced  in  its  pure  form  a  burning  heat,  like  that  of  a 
fiery  furnace  in  the  chest,  .th'j  flames  of  which,  as  they  con- 
sumed the  patient,  darted  out  of  his  eyes,  the  only  [lart  of 
the  body  which  seemed  to  be  alive,  while  the  rest  was  little 
more  than  a  dead  corpse. 

Upon  the  introduction  of  this  terrible  poison  into 
France,  Death,  like  an  invisible  spirit  of  evil,  glided  silently 
about  the  kingdom,  creeping  into  the  cU)sest  family  circles, 
seizing  everywhere  on  its  helpless  victims.  The  nearest 
and  dearest  relationships  of  life  were  no  longer  the  safe- 
guardians  of  the  domestic  hearth.  The  man  who  to-day 
appeared  in  the  glow  of  health,  drooped  to-morrow  and 
dietl  the  next  day.  No  skill  of  the  physician  was  able  to 
save  him,  or  to  detect  the  true  cause  of  his  death,  attribut- 
ing it  usually  to  the  false  appearances  of  disease  which  it 
was  made  to  assume. 

The  victims  of  iho:  poudrc  de  succession  were  counted  by 
thousands.  The  possession  of  wealth,  a  lucrative  office,  a 
fair  young  wife,  or  a  coveted  husband,  were  sufficient  rea- 
sons for  sutlden  death  to  cut  off  the  holder  of  these  envied 
blessings.  \  terrible  mistrust  p.-rvaded  all  classes  of  so- 
ciety. The  husband  trembled  before  his  wife,  the  wife  be- 
fore her  husband,  father  and  son,  brother  and  sister,  kind- 
red and  friends  of  all  degrees,  looked  askance  and  with 
suspicious  eyes  upon  one  another. 

i\\  Paris  the  terror  lasted  long.  Society  was  for  a 
while  broken  up  by  cruel  suspicions.  The  meat  upon  the 
table  remained  uneaten,  the  wine  undrank,  men  and  women 
procured  their  own  provisions  in  the  market,  and  cooked 
and  ate  them  in  their  own  apartments.  Vet  was  every  j)re- 
caution  in  vain.  j'he  fatal  dust  scattered  upon  the  pillow, 
or  a  bouquet    sprinkled    with  the   uL/iia    To/ana  looking 


\i 


J 


362 


77//t  CHI  EN  nOR. 


brii;ht  and  innocent  as  God's  dew  upon  the  flowers,  trans- 
mitted death  without  a  vvariiinir  r)f  (hin<jcr.  Nav,  to  crown 
all  summit  of  wickedness,  the  l)read  in  the  hosi)itals  of  the 
sick,  the  mea<;re  tables  of  thT;  Convent,  the  consecrated 
host,  administered  by  the  priest,  and  the  sacramental  wine 
which  he  drank  iiimself,  all  in  turn  were  poisoned,  polluted, 
damned,  by  the  unseen  pri'sence  of  the  manna  of  St.  Nich- 
olas, as  the  populace  mockingly  called  the  poudre  tie  suc- 
cession. 

The  Court  took  the  alarm,  when  a  gilded  vial  of  the 
A(/n<i  ToJ'atia  was  found  one  day  u]jon  the  table  of  the  I)u- 
chesse  de  la  Valiere,  having  been  placed  thereby  the  hand 
of  some  secret  rival,  in  order  X.(\  cast  suspicion  upon  the 
unha|)py  Louise,  and  hasten  her  fall  already  approaching. 

The  star  of  Montespan  was  rising  bright  in  the  East 
and  that  of  La  Valiere  was  setting  in  clouds  and  darkness 
in  the  West.  But  the  king  never  distrusted  for  a  moment 
the  truth  of  La  Valiere,  the  only  woman  who  ever  loved 
him  for  his  own  sake,  and  he  knew  it  even  while  he  allowed 
her  to  be  sujiplanted  by  another  infinitely  less  worthy — one 
whose  hour  of  triumph  came  when  she  saw  the  broken- 
hearted Louise  throw  aside  the  \elvet  and  ])rocade  of  the 
Court  and  put  on  the  sackcloth  of  the  barefooted  and  re- 
pentant C'armelite. 

The  king  burned  with  indignation  at  the  insult  offered 
to  his  mistress,  and  was  still  more  alarmed  to  tind  the  new 
mysterious  death  creeping  into  the  corridors  of  his  palace. 
He  hastily  constituted  tlie  terrible  Chambrc  Ardcnie,  a  court 
of  supreme  criminal  jurisdiction,  and  commissioned  it  to 
search  out,  try  and  l)urn  without  appeal,  all  poisoners  and 
secret  assassins  in  the  kingdom. 

La  Regnie,  a  man  of  Rhadamanthean  justice,  as  hard 
of  heart  as  he  was  subtle  and  suspicious,  was  long  baffled, 
and  to  his  unutterable  rage,  set  at  naught  by  the  indefati- 
gable poisoners  who  kept  all  France  awake  on  its  pillows. 
History  records  how  Caudin  de  St.  Croix,  the  discijile 
of  Exili,  while  working  in  his  secret  laboratory  at  the  sub- 
limation of  the  deadly  poison,,  accidentally  dropped  the 
mask  of  glass  which  protected  his  face.  He  inhaled  the 
noxious  fumes  and  fell  dead  by  the  side  of  his  crucibles. 
This  event  gave  Desgrais,  captain  of  the  police  of  Paris,  a 
clue  ti'  the  horrors  which  had  so  long  baffled  his  pursuit. 
The  correspondence  of  St.  Croix  was  seized.     His  con- 


"CALLLVG  A  RAVENOUS  BIRD;'  ETC. 


Z^l 


nection  with  the  Marchioness  de  Ijiinvilliers,  and  liis  rela- 
tions with  lOxili  were  discovered.  lv\ili  was  thrown  a 
second  time  into  the  Bastile.  'I'he  Marchioness  was  ar- 
rested and  put  upon  her  trial  before  the  C/tambrc.  Anicntt\ 
where,  as  recorded  in  the  narrative  of  her  confessor,  Pirol, 
her  ravishing  beauty  of  feature,  blue  eyes,  snow-white  skin, 
and  gentle  demeanor  won  a  stroiii^  sympathy  from  the 
fickle  populace  of  Paris,  in  whose  eyes  her  charms  of  per- 
son and  manner  pleaded  hard  to  extenuate  her  unparalleled 
crimes. 

Put  no  power  of  beauty  or  fascination  of  look  could 
move  the  stern  Le  Regnie  from  iiis  judgment.  She  was 
pronounced  guilty  of  the  death  of  her  husband  and  sen- 
tenced tirst  to  be  tortured,  and  then  beheaded  and  her 
body  burnt  on  the  Place  de  Greve,  a  sentence  which  was 
carried  out  to  the  letter.  The  ashes  of  tiie  fairest  and 
most  wicked  dame  of  the  Court  of  Louis  XIV.  were  scat- 
tered to  the  four  corners  of  the  citv  which  had  been  the 
scene  of  her  unparalleled  crimes.  'I'he  arch  poisoner  Kxili 
was  also  tried  and  condemned  to  be  burnt.  The  tumbril  that 
bore  him  to  execution  was  stop|)ed  on  its  way  by  the  fu- 
rious rabble  and  he  was  torn  in  pieces  by  them. 

For  a  short  time  the  kingdom  breathed  freely  in  fancied 
security  ;  but  soon  the  ei)i(lemic  of  sudden  as  well  as  linger- 
ing deaths  from  poison,  broke  out  again  on  all  sides.  The 
fatal  tree  of  the  knowledge  of  evil,  seemingly  cut  down 
with  Exili  and  St.  Croix,  had  sprouted  afresh,  like  a  Upas 
that  could  not  be  destroyed. 

The  jjoisoners  became  more  numerous  than  ev  ix.  Fol- 
lowing the  track  of  St.  Croix  and  l,a  Prin\illiers  they 
carried  on  the  war  against  humanity  without  relaxation. 
Chief  of  these  was  a  reported  witch  and  fortune-teller 
named  La  Voisin,  who  had  studied  the  infernal  secret 
under  Exili  anfl  borne  a  daughter  to  the  false  Italian. 

With  La  Voisin  were  associated  two  priests,  Le  Sage 
and  Le  Vigoureux,  who  lived  with  her,  and  assisted  her  in 
her  necromantic  exhibitions  which  were  visited,  believed  in, 
and  richly  rewarded  by  some  of  the  foremost  people  of  the 
court.  These  necromantic  exhibitions  were  in  reality  a 
cover  to  darker  crimes. 

It  was  long  the  popular  belief  in  France,  that  Cardinal 
Bonzy  got  from  La  Voisin  the  means  of  ridding  himself  of 
sundry  persons  who  stood  in  the  way  of  his  ecclesiastical 


i':i 


364 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


preferment  or  to  whom  he  had  to  pay  pensions  in  his 
quality  of  Archbishop  of  Narbonnc.  The  Duchesse  de 
IJouiilon  and  llie  Countess  of  Soissons,  mother  of  the 
famous  Prince  Euj^ene,  were  also  accused  of  trafficking 
with  that  terrible  woman,  and  were  banished  from  the 
kinj^dom  in  consequence,  while  a  royal  Duke,  Francois  de 
Montmorency,  was  also  suspected  of  dealings  with  La. 
Voisin. 

The  Chambrc  Ardcnte  struck  right  and  left.  Desgrais, 
chief  of  the  police,  by  a  crafty  ruse,  penetrated  into  the  se- 
cret circle  of  La  Voisin,  and  she,  with  a  crowd  of  associates, 
perished  in  the  fires  of  the  Place  de  (ireve.  She  left  an 
illstarred  daughter,  Marie  J'.xili,  to  the  blank  charity  of  the 
streets  of  Paris,  and  the  possession  of  many  of  .he  frightful 
secrets  of  her  mother  and  of  her  terrible  f  uher. 

Marie  Exili  clung  to  l^iris.  She  grew  up  beautiful  and 
profligate,  she  coined  lier  rare  Italian  charms,  first  into 
gokl  and  velvet,  then  into  silver  and  brocade,  and  at  last 
into  copper  and  rags.  When  her  charms  faded  entirely, 
she  began  to  j)ractise  the  forbidden  arts  of  her  mother  and 
father  but  without  their  boldness,  or  long  impunity. 

She  was  scon  suspected,  but  receiving  umely  warning 
of  her  danger,  from  a  high  patroness  at  Court,  Marie  fled 
to  New  France  in  the  disguise  of  -a. paysannc,  one  of  a  cargo 
of  unmarried  women  sent  out  to  the  colony,  on  matrimonial 
venture,  as  the  custom  then  was,  to  furnish  wives  for  the 
colonists.  Her  sole  possession  was  an  antique  cabinet 
with  its  contents,  the  only  remnant  saved  from  the  fortune 
of  her  father  Exili. 

Marie  Exili  landed  in  New  France,  cursing  the  old 
world  which  she  had  left  behind,  and  bringing  as  bitter  a 
hatred  of  the  new,  which  received  her  without  a  shadow  of 
suspicion,  that  under  her  modest  peasant's  garb  was 
concealed  the  daughter  and  inheretrix  of  the  bhick  arts 
of  Antonio  Exili  and  of  the  sorceress  La  Voisin. 

ALirie  Exili  kept  her  secret  well.  She  played  the 
Ini:^e/iuc  to  perfection.  Her  straight  figure  and  black  eyes 
having  drawn  a  second  glance  from  the  Sieur  Corriveau,  a 
rich  habit aut  of  St.  Valier,  who  was  looking  for  a  serx'ant 
among  the  crowd  of  paysaniics  who  had  just  arrived  from 
France,  he  could  not  escape  from  the  power  of  their  fr.s- 
cination.  • 

He  took  Marie  Exili  home  with  him,  and  installed  her 


''CALLING  A  RAVENOUS  BIRD;'  ETC. 


365 


' 


in  his  household,  where  his  wife  soon  died  of  some  inex- 
plicable disease  which  baftled  the  knowled^ar  of  both  the 
doctor  and  the  curate,  the  two  wisest  men  in  the  parish. 
The  Sieur  Corriveau  ended  his  widowiiood  by  marrying 
Marie  Exili,  and  soon  died  himself,  leaving;  his  whole  for- 
tune and  one  daughter,  the  image  of  her  mother,  to  Marie. 
Marie  K.xili  ever  in  dread  of  tiie  perquisitions  of  I)es- 
grais,  kept  very  quiet  in  her  secluded  liome  on  the  St. 
Lawrence,  guarding  her  secret  with  a  life-long  apprehen- 
sion and  but  occasionally  and  in  the  darkest  ways  prac- 
tising her  deadly  skill.  She  found  some  compensation  and 
relief  for  her  supj^essed  passions  in  the  clinging  sympathy 
of  her  daughter,  Marie  'Josephte  dit  I.a  Corriveau,  who 
worshipped  all  that  was  evil  in  her  mother  and  in  spite  of 
an  occasional  reluctance  springing  from  some  maternal 
instinct,  drew  from  her  every  secret  of  her  life.  She  made 
herself  mistress  of  the  whole  formula  of  poisoning  as  taught 
by  her  grandfather,  Exili,  and  of  the  arts  of  sorcery  prac- 
tised by  her  wicked  grandmother.  La  Voisin. 

As  La  Corriveau  listened  to  the  tale  of  the  burning  of 
her  granthnother  on  the  Place  de  (ireve,  hei  c)\vn  soul 
seemed  bathed  in  the  flames  which  rose  from  the  faggots 
and  which  to  her  perverted  reason  appeared  as  the  fires  of 
cruel  injustice,  calling  for  revenge  upon  the  whole  race  of 
the  oi:)pressors  of  her  fair.ily  as  she  regarded  the  punishers 
of  their  crimes. 

With  such  a  parentage  and  such  dark  secrets  brooding 
in  her  bosom,  Marie  Josephte,  or,  as  she  was  commonly 
called,  La  Corriveau,  had  nothing  in  common  with  the 
simple  peasantry  among  whom  she  lived. 

Vears  passed  over  her,  youth  tied  and  La  Corriveau 
still  sat  in  her  house,  eating  her  heart  out,  silent  and  soli- 
tary. After  the  death  of  her  mother,  some  whisjjers  of 
hidden  treasures  known  only  to  herself,  a  rumor  wliich  she 
had  cunningly  set  afloat,  excited  the  cupidity  of  Louis 
Dodier,  a  simple  hahiiant  of  St.  Valier,  and  drew  hun  into 
a  marriage  with  her. 

Tt  was  a  barren  union.  No  child  followed  with  God's 
grace  in  its  little  hands  to  create  a  mother's  feelings  and 
soften  the  callous  heart  of  La  Corriveau.  She  cursed  her 
lot  that  it  was  so,  and  her  dry  bosom  became  an  arid  spot 
of  desert,  tenanted  by  satyrs  and  dragons,  by  every  evil 
passion  of  a  woman  without  conscience  and  void  of  love. 


366 


THE  an  EN  D'OR. 


\\ 


m 


..■i  311 


But  La  Corrivcau  had  inherited  the  sharp  intellect  and 
Italian  dissiinulalion  of  Ant()ni(j  Kxiii.  she  was  astute 
cnouiili  to  throw  a  veil  of  hv|)ocrisv  ovt:r  the  evil  eve  which 
shot  like  a  glance  of  death  from  under  her  thick  black 
eyebrows. 

Her  craft  was  equal  to  her  malice.  An  occasional  deed 
of  alms,  done  not  for  charity's  sake,  but  for  ostentation  ;  an 
adroit  deal  of  cards,  or  a  horoscope  cast  to  (latter  a  foolish 
girl  ;  a  word  of  sympathy,  hollow  as  a  water  bubble  but 
colored  with  iridescent  prelliness,  averted  suspicion  from 
the  darker  traits  of  her  ciiaracter. 

If  s!ie  was  hated,  she  was  also  feared  by  her  neighbors, 
and  although  the  sign  of  the  cross  was  made  upon  the 
chair  whereon  she  had  sat  in  a  neighbor's  house,  her  visits 
were  not  unwelcome,  and  in  the  Manor  house,  as  in  the 
cabin  of  the  woodman.  La  Corriveau  was  received,  consult- 
ed, rewarded,  and  oftcner  thanked  than  cursed  by  her 
witless  dui)es. 

'liiere  was  something  sublime  in  the  satanic  pride  with 
which  she  carried  with  her  the  terrible  secrets  of  her  race, 
whicii  in  her  (jwn  mind  made  her  the  superior  of  every  one 
aroinid  her,  and  wiiom  she  regarded  as  living  only  by  her 
permission  or  forbearance. 

For  human  love  other  than  as  a  degraded  menial,  to 
make  men  the  slaves  of  her  mercenary  schemes,  La  Cor- 
rivcau cared  nothing.  She  never  fell  it,  never  inspired  it. 
She  looked  down  upon  all  her  sex  as  the  tilth  of  creation, 
and  like  herself  incapable  of  a  chaste  feeling  or  a  pure 
thought.  Every  better  instinct  of  her  nature  had  gone  out 
like  the  liame  of  a  lamp  whose  oil  is  exhausted.  Love  of 
money  remained  as  dregs,  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart.  A 
deep  grudge  against  mankind  with  a  secret  pleasure  in  the 
misfortunes  of  otheis,  especially  of  her  own  sex,  were  her 
ruling  passions. 

Her  mother,  Marie  Exili.  had  died  in  her  bed,  warning 
her  daughter  not  to  dabble  in  the  forbidden  arts  which  she 
had  taught  her,  but  to  cling  to  her  husband  and  live  an 
honest  life  as  the  only  means  of  dying  a  more  hopeful 
death  than  her  ancestors. 

La  Corriveau  heard  much,  but  heeded  little.  The  blood 
of  Antonio  Exili  and  of  La  Voisin  beat  too  vigorously  in 
her  veins  to  be  tamed  down  by  the  feeble  whispers  of  a 
dying  woman  who  had  been  weak  enough  to  give  way  at 


CALLING  A  RAVEXOUS  lilROr  ETC. 


367 


last.  The  death  of  her  mother  U'ft  T/i  Corri\'enii  free  to 
follow  her  own  will.  'I'he  Itali.in  suhtlfty  of  lu-r  race  made 
lier  secret  and  cautious.  She  had  few  personal  affronts  to 
avenge,  ami  few  tenijjtations  in  the  simple  community 
where  she  lived  to  practise  more  than  the  ordinary  arts  of 
a  rural  fortune-teller,  keejiing  in  impeiu-trahle  shadow  the 
darker  side  oi  her  character  as  a  bc^rn  sorceress  and 
poisoner. 

Such  was  the  woman  whom  Angel ique  des  Meloises 
summoned  to  her  aid  in  what  she  thought  was  the  crisis  of 
her  life.  A  crisis  which  she  had  at  length  persuadt-d  her- 
self, justified  the  only  means  left  to  get  rid  of  her  rival  for 
the  hand  of  the  Intendant. 

Her  conscience,  which  ought  to  have  protected  her, 
had  shivered  under  the  blows  of  her  passion  like  a  shield 
of  glass  ;  but  fragiuents  of  it  still  wounded  her.  She  was 
not  without  some  natural  compunctions;  for  though  habitu- 
ated to  think  of  sin,  she  had  not  yet  been  touched  by 
crime,  and  she  strove  earnestlv  to  blind  herself  to  the  enor- 
mity  of  what  she  had  resolved — and  had  recourse  to  some 
sad  casuistry  to  persuade  herself  that  she  would  be  less 
guilty  of  the  crime  of  mui'der  if  she  did  it  by  the  hand  of 
another.  Moreover,  she  called  on  (rod  to  witness  that  she 
did  not  mean  to  be  a  persistent  sinner,  far  from  it.  She 
would  conunit  but  one  crime,  only  one  !  just  one  simple 
breach  of  hunum  and  divine  law.  Take  the  life  of  a  rival, 
but  that  done,  her  end  attained,  she  would  live  the  life  of 
a  saint  ever  after,  free  from  all  further  temptation !  for  she 
would  be  beatified  bv  a  marriage  witii  the  Intendant  of 
New  France;  take  precedence  of  all  the  ladies  of  the 
colony  ;  and  at  last  be  translated  to  that  heaven  of  hope 
and  delight,  the  Court  of  Versailles,  leaving  far  behind  her 
Beaumanoir  and  all  its  dark  memories — what  more  would 
she  have  to  desire  in  this  world  ? 

The  juggling  fiend  plays  with  us  ever  thus  !  When  we 
palter  with  conscience,  a  single  fault  seems  not  much.  One 
step  Ijeyond  the  allowable  mark  does  not  look  to  be  far. 
It  will  be  quite  a  merit  to  stop  there,  and  go  no  farther  1 
Providence  must  be  on  onr  side  and  reward  our  abstinence 
from  further  wickedness  ! 

Fanchon  Dodier,  in  obedience  to  the  order  of  her  mis- 
tress, started  early  in  the  day,  to  bear  the  message  intrusted 
to  her  for  La  Corriveau.     She  did  not  cross  the  river  and 


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T/f£  CHIEN  D'OR. 


take  the  king's  liighvvay,  tlie  rough  though  well  travelled 
road  on  the  south  shore  which  led  to  St.  Valier.  Angd- 
lique  was  crafty  enough  amid  her  impulsiveness  to  see 
that  it  were  better  for  Fanchon  to  go  down  by  water  and 
return  b)-  hind.  It  lessened  observation,  and  might  be  im- 
portant one  day  to  baffle  inquiry.  La  Corriveau  would 
serve  her  for  money,  but  for  money  also  she  might  betray 
her.  Angelique  resolved  to  secure  her  silence  by  making 
her  the  perpetrator  of  whatever  scheme  of  wickedness  she 
might  devise  against  the  unsuspecting  Lady  of  JJeaumanoir. 
As  for  Fanchon,  she  need  know  nothing  more  than  Ange- 
lique told  her  as  to  the  object  of  her  mission  to  her  terrible 
aunt. 

In  pursuance  of  this  design,  Angelique  had  already  sent 
for  a  couple  of  Indian  canoemen  to  embark  Fanchon  at 
the  quay  of  the  Friponne  and  convey  her  to  St.  Valier. 

Half-civilized  and  wholly  demoralized  red  men  were 
always  to  be  found  on  the  beach  of  Stadacona  as  they  still 
called  the  liatture  of  the  St.  Charles,  lounging  about  in 
blankets,  smoking,  playing  dice,  or  drinking  pints  or  quarts 
— as  fortune  favored  them  or  a  passenger  wanted  convey- 
ance in  their  bark  canoes,  which  they  managed  with  a  dex- 
terity unsurpassed  by  any  boatmen  that  ever  put  oar  or 
paddle  in  water,  salt  or  fresh. 

These  rough  fellows  were  safe  and  trusty  in  their  pro- 
fession. P'anciion  knew  them  slightly,  and  felt  no  fear 
whatever  in  seating  herself  upon  the  bear  skin  which  car- 
peted the  button)  of  their  canoe. 

They  pushed  off  at  once  from  the  shore,  with  scarcely 
a  word  of  reply  to  her  voluble  directions  and  gesticula- 
tions as  they  went  speeding  their  canoe  down  the  stream. 
'J'he  turning  tide  bore  them  lightly  on  its  bosom,  and  they 
chanted  a  wild,  monotonous  refrain  as  their  paddles  flashed 
and  dipped  alternatelv  in  stream  and  sunshine: 


"Ah  !  ah  !  Tenaouich  tenaga  ! 
Tenaouich  tenaga,  ouich  ka  1 " 


"They  are  singing  about  me,  no  doubt,"  said  Fanchon 
to  herself.  "  I  do  not  care  what  people  say,  they  can* 
not  be  Christians  who  speak  such  a  heathenish  jargon  as 
that.  It  is  enough  to  sink  the  canoe  ;  but  I  will  repeat  my 
pater  nosters  and  my  Ave  Marias,  seeing  they  will  rot  con- 
verse with  me,  and  I  will  pray  good  St.  Anne  to  give  me 


''CALLIXG  A  RAVENOUS  BIRD;'  ETC. 


369 


: 


a  safe  passage  to  St.  Valier."  In  which  ])ious  occ.ip.ition 
as  the  boatmen  continued  their  savai^e  soni;  without  paying 
her  any  attention,  Fanchon,  with  many  interruptions  of 
worldiv  thoughts,  spent  the  rest  of  the  time  she  was  in  the 
Indian  canoe. 

Down  |)ast  the  green  hills  of  the  south  shore  th  ,•  ho  it- 
men  steadily  plied  their  paddles,  and  kept  singing  tiuir 
wild  Indian  chant.  The  wooded  slopes  of  Orleans  h  is<<'d 
in  sunshine  as  they  overlooked  the  broad  channel,  thro  \\\\ 
which  the  canoe  sped,  and  long  before  meridi.iii  tin-  liitL- 
bark  was  turned  in  to  shore  and  pulled  up  on  the  beach  .>f 
St.  Valier. 

Fanchon  leaped  out  without  assistance,  wetting  a  f )  )t 
in  so  doing,  which  somewhat  discomposed  the  good-hum  >r 
she  had  shown  during  the  voyage.  Her  Indi  i'  boatmen 
offered  her  no  help,  considering  that  women  were  madtj  t  > 
serve  men  and  help  themselves,  and  not  to  be  waited  upon 
by  them. 

The  jjallantrv  of  Frenchmen  to  the  sex  was  a  thiuL"^  un- 
intelligible  and  absurd  in  the  eyes  of  the  red  men.  who, 
whatever  shreds  of  European  ideas  hung  loosely  about 
them,  never  changed  their  original  opinions  about  wome.i  ; 
and  hence  were  incapable  of  real  civilization. 

"  Not  that  I  wanted  to  touch  one  of  their  savage  hands," 
muttered  Fanchon,  "  but  they  might  have  offered  oie  as- 
sistance !  Look  there,"  continued  she,  pulling  aside  her 
skirt  and  showing  a  very  trim  foot  wet  up  to  the  ankle,  "  they 
ought  to  know  the  difference  between  their  red  squaws  and 
white  girls  of  the  city,  if  they  are  not  worth  politeness, 
we  are.  But  Indians  are  only  fit  to  kill  Chaastians  or  be 
killed  by  them  ;  and  you  might  as  well  curtesy  to  a  bear  in 
tlie  briars,  as  to  an  Indian  anywhere." 

The  boatmen  looked  at  her  foot  with  sujjreme  indilTer- 
ence,  and  taking  out  their  pipes  seated  themselves  on  the 
edge  of  their  canoe  and  began  to  smoke. 

"  You  may  return  to  the  city,"  said  she,  addressing 
them  sharply,  "I  jjray  to  the  bon  Dieu  to  strike  you  white 
— it  is  vain  to  look  for  manners  from  an  Indian  !  1  shall 
remain  in  St.  Valier  and  not  return  with  you." 

"Marry  me,  be  my  squaw,  Ania.'*  "  replied  one  of  the 
boatmen  with  a  grim  smile,  "the  bon  Dieu  will  strike  our 
papooses  white  and  teach  them  manners  like  nale  faces." 

"  Ugh  !  not  for  all  the  king's  money.     What !  marry  a 

24 


■■■■ 


370 


THE  CHIEN  nOR. 


I  •■)   ] 


red  Ifidian  and  carry  his  pack  like  Fifine  Perotte  ?  I  would 
die  first !  You  are  bold  indeed,  Paul  La  Crosse,  to  name 
such  a  thing  to  me.  (io  back  to  the  city !  1  would  not 
trust  mySL'lf  ajj^ain  in  your  canoe.  It  required  coura<j^e  to 
do  so  at  all,  but  mademoiselle  selected  von  formv  boatmen, 
not  I.  I  wonder  she  did  so,  when  the  brothers  Dclleau, 
and  the  prettiest  fellows  in  town,  were  idle  on  the  batture." 

"  Ania  is  niece  to  the  old  medicine  woman  in  the  stone 
wij^wani  at  St.  Valier  ;  .G^oin^-  to  see  her,  eh  ?  "  asked  the 
other  boatman  with  a  slight  display  of  curiosity. 

"Yes,  I  am  going  to  visit  my  aunl  ]>odier,  why  should 
I  not  ?  She  has  crocks  of  gold  buried  in  the  house,  I  can 
tell  you  that,  Pierre  Ceinture  !  " 

"Going  to  got  some  from  La  Corriveau,  eh  ?  crocks  of 
gold,  eh  ?  "  said  Paul  La  Crosse. 

"  La  Corriveau  has  medicines  too  I  get  some,  eh } "  asked 
Pierre  Ceinture. 

"  I  am  going  neither  for  gold  nor  medicines,  but  to  see 
my  aunt,  if  it  concerns  you  to  know,  Pierre  Ceinture  ! 
which  it  does  not  ! " 

"  ALademoiselle  des  Meloises  pay  her  to  go,  eh  .''  not 
going  back  ever,  eh  ? "  asked  t'^e  other  Indian. 

"Mind  your  own  affairs,  Paul  La  Crosse,  and  I  will 
mind  mine !  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises  paid  you  to  bring 
me  to  St.  Valier,  not  to  ask  me  impertinences.  That  is 
enough  for  \ou  !  Hei-e  is  your  fare,  now  you  can  return  to 
the  Sault  au  Matelot  and  drink  yourselves  blind  with  the 
money  !  " 

"  Very  good  that  ! "  replied  the  Indian.  "  I  like  to 
drink  myself  blind,  will  do  it  to-night  !  Like  to  see  me, 
eh  ?  IJetter  that,  than  go  see  La  Corriveau  1  The  /kj/j^- 
tans  say  she  talks  with  the  Devil,  and  makes  the  sickness 
settle  like  a  fog  upon  the  wigwams  of  tiie  red  men.  They 
say  she  can  make  pale  faces  die,  by  looking  at  them  !  But 
Indians  are  too  hard  to  kill  with  a  look  I  Firewater  and 
gun  and  tomahawk,  and  fever  in  the  wigwams,  only  make 
the  Indians  die." 

"Good  that  something  can  make  you  die,  for  your 
ill  manners  !  look  at  my  stocking  !  "  replied  Fanchon  with 
warmth.  "  If  I  tell  La  Corriveau  what  you  say  of  her, 
there  will  be  trouble  in  your  wigwam,  Pierre  Ceinture !  " 

"  Do  not  do  that,  Ania  1  ''  replied  the  Indian  crossing 
himself  earnestly,  "  do  not  tell  La  Corriveau  or  she  will 


''CALLING  A  RAVENOUS  BIRD;'  ETC. 


371 


-y 

Lit 

id 

Lir 
Lh 
•1% 

ig 
ill 


make  an  imni^e  of  wax  and  call  it  Pierre  Ceinture,  and  she 
■will  melt  it  away  bt-fore  a  slow  fno,  and  as  it  melts  my 
flesh  and  bones  will  melt  away  loo  !  Do  not  tell  her,  Fan- 
chon  Dodier!"  The  Indian  had  picked  up  this  piece  of 
superstition  from  the  white  /lahifans,  and  like  them  ihor- 
oughlv  believed  in  the  supernatural  jjowers  of  I. a  Corriveau. 

'*  \\'ell,  leave  nie  !  <;et  back  to  the  city,  and  tell  Made- 
moiselle, 1  arrived  safe  at  St.  Valier,"  replied  l-anchon, 
turning  to  leave  them. 

'I'he  Indians  were  somewhat  taken  down  by  the  airs  of 
Fanchon,  and  they  stood  in  awe  of  the  far-reaching  jiower 
of  her  aunt,  from  the  power  of  whose  witchcraft  they  lirndy 
believed  no  hiding-place,  even  in  the  deepest  woods,  could 
protect  them.  Merely  nodding  a  farewell  to  Fanchon,  the 
Indians  silently  jMished  their  canoe  into  the  stream,  and 
embarking  returned  to  the  citv  bv  the  wav  thev  came. 

A  fine  breezy  ujjland  lay  before  Fanchon  Dodier.  Cul- 
tivated fields  of  corn  and  meadows  ran  down  to  the  shore. 
A  row  of  white  cottages  forming  a  loosely  connected  street 
clustered  into  something  like  a  village  at  the  jioint  where 
the  Parish  church  stood,  at  the  intersection  of  two  or 
three  roads,  one  of  which,  a  narrow  green  track,  but  little 
worn  by  the  carts  of  the  /labifans,  led  to  the  stone  house 
of  La  C'orriveau,  the  chinuiey  of  which  was  just  visible  as 
you  lost  sight  of  the  village  spire.  The  road  dipped  down 
on  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  and,  in  the  far  distance  be- 
yond, ro^  narrowed  to  a  thread  upon  another  hill,  and 
ran  into  the  depths  of  the  forest  which  formed  the  back- 
ground of  the  landscape. 

In  a  deep  hollow,  out  of  sight  of  the  village  church, 
almost  out  of  hearing  of  its  little  bell,  stood  the  house  of 
La  Corriveau,  a  square  heavy  structure  of  stone,  inconve- 
nient and  gloomy,  with  narrow  windows  and  an  uninviting 
door.  The  pine  forest  touched  it  on  one  side,  a  brawling 
stream  twisted  itself  like  a  live  snake  half  round  it  on  the 
other.  A  plot  of  green  grass  ill  kept  and  deformed,  with 
noxious  weeds,  dock,  fennel,  thistle  and  foul  stramonium, 
was  surrounded  by  a  rough  wall  of  loose  stones  forming 
the  lawn,  such  as  it  was,  where,  under  a  tree  seated  in  an 
armchair,  was  a  solitary  woman,  whom  I'anchon  recognized 
as  her  aunt,  Marie  Joseplite  Dodier,  surnamed  La  Cor- 
riveau. 

La   Corriveau   in  feature  and  person  took  after  her 


tl 


372 


THE  cm  EM  D'OR. 


■i  % 


'■:{■   i 


grandsire  Exili.  She  was  tall  and  straiu^ht,  of  a  svvarthy 
conipiexion,  black  haired  and  intensely  black  eyed.  She  was 
not  uncomely  of  feature,  nay  had  been  handsome,  nor  was 
her  look  at  lir.st  si^l.t  fnrbiddint;,  esi)ecialiy  if  she  did 
not  turn  upon  you  those  small  basilisk  eyes  of  hers,  full  of 
fire  and  <;lare  as  the  eyes  of  a  rattlesnake.  lUit  truly  those 
tiiin  cruel  lips  of  hers  never  smiled  spontaneously  or  affect- 
ed to  smile  upon  \ou,  unless  she  had  an  object  to  c;ain, 
by  assiunini;  a  disguise  as  foreign  to  her  as  light  to  an 
angel  of  darkness. 

La  Corriveau  was  dressed  in  a  robe  of  soft  brown  stuff, 
shaped  with  a  degree  of  taste  and  style  beyond  the  garb  of 
her  class.  Neatness  in  dress  was  the  one  virtue  slie  had 
inherited  from  iier  mother.  Her  feet  were  small  and  well 
shod,  like  a  lady's,  as  the  envious  neighbors  used  to  say. 
She  never  in  her  life  would  wear  the  sabots  of  the  peasant 
women,  nor  go  barefoot,  as  many  of  them  did  about  the 
house.  La  Corriveau  was  vain  of  her  feet  which  would 
have  made  her  fortune,  as  she  thought  with  bitterness,  any 
where  but  in  St.  Valier. 

She  sat  musing  in  her  chair,  not  noticing  the  presence 
of  her  niece,  who  st(jod  for  a  moment  looking  and  hesi- 
tating before  accosting  lier.  Her  countenance  bore  when 
she  was  alone,  an  expression  of  malignity  which  made  Fan- 
chon  shudder.  A  quick,  unconscious  twitching  of  the  fingers 
accompanied  her  thoughts,  as  if  this  weird  woman  was 
playing  a  game  of  mora  with  the  evil  genius  thafwaited  on 
her.  Her  grandsire  I^xili  had  the  same  nervous  twitch- 
ing of  his  fingers,  and  the  vulgar  accused  him  of  playing 
at  mora  with  the  Devil,  who  ever  accompanied  him,  they 
believed. 

The  lips  of  La  Cor'iveau  moved  in  unison  with  her 
thoughts.  She  was  giving  expression  to  her  habitual  con- 
tempt for  her  sex  as  she  crooned  over  in  a  sufficiently 
audible  voice  to  reach  the  ear  of  Fanchon,  a  hateful  song 
of  Jean  Le  Meung — on  women  : — 

"  Toutcs  vous  etcs,  serez  on  futcs, 
Dc  tait  ou  do  volonte  piites  1 

"  It  is  not  nice  to  say  that,  aunt  Marie!"  exclaimed 
Fanchon,  coming  forward  and  embracing  La  Corriveau, 
who  gave  a  start  on  seeing  her  niece  so  unexpectedly  be- 
fore her.     "  It  is  not  nice,  and  it  is  not  true  !  " 


LA    CORRIVEAU. 


373 


ly 


"But  it  is  true  !  Fanchon  Dodier  !  if  it  be  not  nice. 
There  is  noiliinj^  nice  to  be  said  of  our  sex,  excej)t  i)y 
foolish  men!  Women  know  one  another  better!  But," 
continued  she,  scrutinizint;^  lier  niece  witii  her  keen  bhick 
eyes,  which  seemed  to  pierce  her  throuij;ii  and  throuj^h, 
*'  what  ill  wind  or  Satan's  errand  has  br()Uj;ht  you  to  St. 
Valier  to-day,  Fanchon  ?  " 

^  "No  ill  wind,  nor  ill  errand  either,  I  hope,  aunt.  I 
come  by  command  of  my  mistress  to  ask  you  to  <:;o  to  the 
city.  She  is  l>itinf;  her  nails  off  with  impatience  to  see  you 
on  some  business." 

"  And  who  is  your  mistress,  who  dares  to  ask  La  Corri- 
veau  to  go  to  the  city  at  her  biddinj;? '' 

"  Do  not  be  angry,  aunt,"  replied  Fanchon,  soothingly. 
It  was  I  counselled  her  to  send  for  you,  and  I  offered  to 
fetch  you.  My  mistress  is  a  high  lad\-,  wiio  expects  to  be 
still  higher  :  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises  !  " 

"  Mademoiselle  Angelicjue  des  Meloises,  one  hears 
enough  of  her  !  a  high  ladv  indeed  !  who  will  be  low  enough 
at  last !  A  minx  as  vain  as  she  is  prett\',  who  would 
marr\  all  the  men  in  New  I'Vance,  and  kill  all  the  women 
if  she  could  have  her  way!  what  in  the  name  of  the  Sabbil, 
does  she  want  with  La  Corriveau  .'' " 

"She  did  not  call  you  names,  aunt,  and  please  do  not 
say  such  things  of  her,  for  you  will  frighten  me  away  be- 
fore I  tell  my  errand.  Mademoiselle  Angc-liciue  sent  this 
piece  of  golcl  as  earnest  money  to  jiro\e  that  she  wants 
your  counsel  and  advice  in  an  im;)ortant  matter." 

Fanchon  untied  the  corner  of  her  handkerchief,  and 
took  from  it  a  broad  shining  Louis  d'or.  She  ])laced  it  in 
the  hand  of  La  CJorriveau,  whose  lonir  fingers  clutched  it 
like  the  talons  of  a  harpy.  Of  all  the  evil  passions  of  this 
woman,  the  greed  for  money  was  the  nv^st  ravenous. 

"It  is  h>ng  since  I  got  a  piece  of  gold  like  tliat  tocross 
my  hand  with,  Fanchon  !  "  said  she,  looking  at  it  admiringly 
and  spitting  on  it  for  good  luck. 

"  There  are  plenty  more  where  it  came  from,  aunt," 
replied  Fanchon.  "  Mademoiselle  could  fill  your  apron 
with  gold  everv  dav  of  the  week  if  she  would  :  she  is  to 
marry  the  Intendant  !  " 

"Marry  the  Intendant  !  ah,  indeed!  that  is  why  she 
sends  for  me  so  urgently  !   I  see  I     Marry  the   Litendant ! 


m'  H 


374 


T//£  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


m  I 


:/  i 


11 


She  will  bestow  a  pot  of  gold  on  La  Corriveau  to  accom- 
plish that  match  !  " 

'*  Ma\  be  she  would,  Aunt  ;  I  would,  inyself.  But  it  is 
not  that  she  wishes  to  consult  you  about  just  now.  She 
lost  her  jewels  at  the  ball,  and  wants  your  help  to  find 
them." 

"  Lost  her  jewels,  eh  ?  Did  she  say  you  were  to  tell 
me  that  she  had  lost  her  jewels,  Fanchon  ? 

"  Yes,  Aunt,  that  is  what  she  wants  to  consult  you 
about,"  replied  Fanchon,  with  simplicity.  Hut  the  keen 
perce|")tion  of  La  ('orriveau  saw  that  a  second  purpose  lay 
behind  it. 

"A  likely  tale  !  "  muttered  she,  "  that  so  rich  a  lady 
would  send  for  La  Corriveau  from  St.  Valier  to  find  a  few 
jewels  !  J^ut  it  will  do.  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  city.  I 
cannot  refuse  \\\\  invitation  like  that.  Gold  fetches  any 
woman,  Fanchon.  It  fetches  me  always.  It  will  fetch 
you  too,  some  day,  if  you  are  lucky  enough  to  give  it  the 
chance." 

''I  wish  it  would  fetch  me  now.  Aunt;  but  poor  girls 
who  li\e  b\-  service  and  wages  have  small  chance  to  be 
sent  for  in  that  way  !  We  are  glad  to  get  the  empty  hand 
without  the  money.  Men  are  so  scarce  with  this  cruel 
war,  that  they  might  easily  have  a  wife  to  each  finger,  were 
it  allowed  by  the  law.  1  heard  Dame  Tremblay  say — and 
I  thought  her  very  right — the  Church  does  not  half  con- 
sider our  condition  and  necessities." 

"  Dame  Tremblay  I  the  charming  Josej^hine  of  Lake  Beau- 
port.  She  who  would  have  been  a  witch,  and  could  not ! 
Satan  would  not  have  her!"  exclaimed  La  Corriveau, 
scornfully.  "  Is  she  still  housekeeper  and  bedmaker  at 
Beaumanoir }  " 

Fanchon  wi  s  honest  enough  to  feel  rather  indignant 
at  this  speech.  "  Don't  speak  so  of  her.  Aunt  ;  she  is  not 
bad.  Although  I  ran  away  fron  her,  and  took  service  with 
Mademoiselle  des  Meloises,  I  will  not  speak  ill  of  her." 

""  Why  d'd  you  run  away  from  lieaumanoir  ?"  asked  La 
Corrivea\i. 

Fanchon  reflected  a  moment  upon  the  mystery  of  the 
Lady  of  Beaumanoir,  and  something  checked  her  tongue  ; 
as  if  it  were  not  safe  to  tell  ali  she  knew  to  her  aunt,  who 
would,  moreover,  be  sure  to  find  out  from  Angelique  her- 
self as  much  as  her  mistress  wished  her  to  know. 


LA  COR  RIVE  A  C\ 


37S 


"I  did  not  like  D;inic  Trciiil)!.!)',  Aunt,"  replied  she  ; 
"I  preferred  to  live  with  Mademoiselle  AnL;eli(iue.  She  is 
a  lady,  a  beauty,  wIkj  dresses  to  siiri)ass  any  |)ietare  i:i  the 
book  of  Modes  from  Paris,  whieh  I  often  looked  at  on  her 
dressing-table.  She  allowed  me  to  imitate  them,  or  wear 
her  cast-off  dresses,  which  were  better  than  any  oth'-'r  ladies' 
new  ones.  I  have  one  of  them  on.  Look.  Aunt !  "  Fan- 
chon  spread  out  very  complacently  the  skirt  of  a  pretty 
blue  robe  she  wore. 

La  Corriveau  nodded  her  head  in  a  sort  of  silent  ap- 
proval, and  remarked:  ".She  is  free-handed  enoui^h!  She 
f;ives  what  costs  her  nothinj^,  and  takes  ali  she  can  sjjet,  and 
is,  after  all,  a  trollope,  like  the  rest  of  us,  Fanchon,  who 
would  be  very  good  if  there  were  neither  men  nor  money 
nor  tine  clothes  in  the  world,  to  tempt  poor  silly  women." 

"  You  do  say  such  nasty  things,  Aunt  !  "  exclaimed  Fan- 
chon, flashin;^  with  indii;-nation.  "1  will  hear  no  more  !  I 
am  goirig  into  the  house  to  see  dear  old  ITncle  Dodier, 
who  has  been  lookinji  throiiiih  the  window  at  me  for  ten 
minutes  past,  and  dared  not  come  out  to  speak  to  me.  You 
are  too  hard  on  ])oor  old  Uncle  D  xlier.  Aunt,"  said  I*'an- 
chon,  ooIcUy.  ''  If  you  cannot  be  kind  to  him,  why  did  you 
marry  him  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  wanted  a  husband,  and  he  wanted  my  money, 
that  was  all  ;  and  1  got  my  bargain,  and  iiis  too,  Fanchon  !  " 
and  the  woman  laughed  ^avairelv. 

"  I  thought  people  married  to  be  happy,  Aunt,"  replied 
the  girl,   persistently. 

•'  Ha]3py !  such  folly.  Satan  yokes  people  together  to 
bring  more  sinners  into  the  workl,  and  supply  fresh  fuel 
for  his  tires." 

"My  mistress  thinks  there  is  no  happiness  like  a  good 
match,"  remarked  Fanchon  ;  "  and  I  ilii.ik  so  too,  Aunt. 
I  shall  never  wait  the  second  time  of  asking,  I  assure  you, 
Aunt." 

"  You  are  a  fool,  Fanchon,"  said  La  Corriveau  ;  "  but 
your  mistress  deserves  to  wear  the  ring  of  Cleopatra,  and 
to  become  the  mother  of  witciies  and  harlots  for  all  time. 
Whv  did  she  reallv  send  for  me  ?  " 

The  girl  crossed  herself,  and  exclaimed:  "God  forbid  1 
Aunt  ;  my  mistress  is  not  like  that  !  " 

La  Corriveau  spat  at  the  mention  of  the  sacred  name. 
"But  it  is  in  her,    Fanchon.     It  is  in  all  of  us  !     If  she  is 


3^6  7///-;  ciiiF.x  noR. 

not  so  already,  she  w  ill  bi\  iJut  go  into  the  house,  aiid  see 
your  foolish  uncle,  while  I  go  prepare  for  my  visit.  We  will 
set  out  at  once,  I''an(:hon — for  business  like  that  of  Angd- 
lique  des  Meloises  cannot  wait." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


\i% 


i 


I "' 


(I 


WEIRD    S[STKRS. 

Fanchon  walked  into  the  house  to  see  her  uncle  Dodier. 
When  she  was  gone  the  countenance  of  Li  Oirriveau  put 
on  a  dark  and  terrible  expression.  Her  black  eyes  looked 
downwards,  seeming  to  j^enetrate  the  very  earth,  and  to 
reflect  in  iheir  glittering  orbits  the  tires  of  the  under  world. 

Siie  stood  for  a  few  moments,  buried  in  deep  thought, 
with  her  arms  tightly  folded  across  her  breast.  Her  lin- 
gers moved  nervously,  as  they  kept  time  with  the  quick 
motions  of  iier  foot,  which  beat  the  floor. 

"  It  is  for  (k-ath,  and  no  lost  jewels,  that  girl  sends  for 
me!"  muttered  L.i  Corriveau,  through  her  teeth,  which 
flashed  white  and  cruel  between  her  thin  lips.  "  She  has  a 
rival  in  her  love  for  the  Intendant,  and  she  will  lovingly, 
by  my  help,  feed  her  with  the  manna  of  St.  Nicholas! 
Angeliciue  des  Meloises  has  boklness,  craft  and  falseness 
for  twenty  women,  and  can  keep  secrets  like  a  nun.  She 
is  rich  and  ambitious,  and  would  poison  half  the  world, 
rather  than  miss  the  thing  she  sets  her  mind  on.  She  is  a 
girl  after  my  own  heart,  and  worth  the  risk  I  run  with  her. 
Her  riches  would  be  endless,  should  she  succeed  in  her 
designs  ;  and  with  her  in  my  power,  nothing  she  has  would 
henceforth  be  her  own — but  mine  !  mine  !  Besides,"  ad- 
ded La  Corriveau,  her  thoughts  Hashing  back  to  the  fate 
which  had  o\'ertaken  her  jjrogenitors — Exili  and  La  Voi- 
sin — "  I  may  need  help  myself,  some  day,  to  plead  with  the 
Litendant  on  my  own  account  ;  who  knows?  " 

A  strange  thrill  ran  through  the  veins  of  La  Corriveau, 
but  she  instantly  threw  it  off.  "  I  know  what  she  wants," 
added  she.  "  I  will  take  it  with  me.  I  am  safe  in  trusting 
her  with  the  secret  of  Beatrice  Spara.  Th4t  girl  is  worthy 
of  it  as  Brinvilliers  herself." 


\ 


WEIRD  SISTERS. 


377 


\ 


La  Corrivcau  entered  her  own  apartment.  She  locked 
the  door  behind  her,  drew  a  l)iinch  of  kevs  from  Iier  bosom, 
and  turned  towards  a  cabinet  of  sin<;uhir  shape  and  Itahan 
vorkmanshij).  which  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  apartment. 
It  was  an  antique  jiiece  of  furniture,  made  of  some  chirk 
orienld  wood,  carved  over  witli  fantastic  figures  from 
Etruscan  designs  by  the  cunning  hand  of  an  old  Italian 
workman,  who  knew  well  how  to  make  secret  drawers  and 
invisible  concealments  for  things  dangerous  and  forbichlen. 
It  had  once  belonged  to  Antonio  ivxili,  who  had  caused 
it  to  be  made,  ostensibly  for  the  safe  keeping  of  his  cabal- 
istic formulas  and  alchemic  preparations,  when  searching 
for  the  Philosoplier's  Stone  and  the  Mlixir  of  L'fe,  rea'ly, 
for  the  conc^ealment  of  the  subtle  drugs  out  of  which  his 
aleini)ics  distilled  the  aqua  /oftina,  and  his  crucibles  pre- 
pared \\\Q  poiu/rc  dc  siuresxion. 

In  the  most  secret  place  of  all  were  dei)osited,  ready 
for  use,  a  few  vials  of  the  crystal  liquid,  every  single  drop 
of  which  contained  the  life  of  a  man,  and  which,  adminis- 
tered in  due  p^roportiou  of  time  and  measure,  killed  and 
left  no  sign,  numbering  its  victim's  days,  hours  and  minutes, 
exactly  according  to  the  will  and  malignitvof  his  destroyer. 

La  Corriveau  took  out  the  vials,  and  placed  them  care- 
fully in  a  casket  of  ebonv  not  larirer  than  a  woman's  hand. 
In  it  was  a  number  of  small  ilaskets,  each  filled  with  pills 
like  grains  of  mustard  seed,  the  essence  and  quintessence 
of  various  poisons,  that  put  on  the  appearance  of  natural 
diseases,  and  which,  mixed  in  due  prc^iportion  with  the 
Acjna  Tofaiui,  covered  the  foulest  murders  with  the  lawful 
ensigns  of  the  angel  of  death. 

In  that  box  of  ebony  was  the  sublimated  dust  of  deadly 
niiiht-shade,  which  kindles  the  red  tires  of  fever  and  rots 
the  roots  of  the  tongue.  There  was  the  fetid  powder  of 
Stramonium,  that  grips  the  lungs  like  an  asthma  ;  and 
Quinia,  that  shakes  its  victims  like  the  cold  hand  of  the 
miasma  of  the  Pontine  Marshes.  The  essence  of  poppies, 
ten  times  sublimated,  a  few  grains  of  which  bring  on  the 
stupor  of  apoplexy;  and  the  sardonic  plant,  that  kills  its 
victim  with  the  frightful  laughter  of  madness  on  his 
countenance. 

The  knowledge  of  these  and  many  more  cursed  herbs, 
once  known  to  Medea  in  the  Colchian  land,  and  trans- 
planted to  Greece  and   Rome,  with   the  enchantments  of 


378 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


their  use,  \\\(\  been  hiiiulccl,  by  a  Ion";  succession  of  sor- 
cerers and  poisoners,  down  to  Ivxili  and  Healricc  Spara, 
uniil  they  came  into  the  |)ossession  of  La  Corriveau,  llie 
legitimate  inheritrix  of  this  lore  of  hell. 

But  Providence,  while  it  does  not  prevent  the  crimes 
which  determined  wickedness  resolves  to  commit,  ne\er 
ceases  slrixinj^  aj^ainst  them,  ediicin^j^  <ijood  out  of  evil,  and 
seekin;^  to  ameliorate  man's  wretched  estate,  [t  flights  fue 
with  water.  It  cond)als  evil  with  ^ood  and  error  with 
truth.  But  it  also  permits  men  to  flight  tire  with  tire,  and 
out  of  the  very  armor  of  Hell  brinu^s  forth  weapons  to 
combat  the  prevailin.t;  wickedness  of  the  time. 

The  researches  of  the  alchemists  and  poisoners  had  dis- 
closed to  them  many  important  secrets  in  chemistry  which, 
in  the  hands  of  wise  and  j^ood  men,  became  of  prime 
inijiortance  in  the  cure  of  diseases,  after  they  had  been 
long  noted  for  their  baneful  effects. 

The  study  of  the  science  of  killing,  led  by  a  reverse  pro- 
cess to  that  of  the  science  of  healing,  and  a  whole  school 
of  medicine  founds  its  practice,  upon  the  princijile  thatx/;;//- 
lia  sinii/il'us  iiiranli(i\  and  wise  physicians  now  use  tho.,e 
terrible  drugs,  not  to  take  life  as  the  poisoners  did,  but  as 
niediciunenla,  to  tight  and  conquer  the  nuilignant  diseases 
which  these  deadly  substances,  administered  as  poisons 
sinuil ate  and  appear  to  occasion. 

Jiefore  closing  the  cabinet.  La  Corriveau  opened  one 
more  secret  drawer,  and  took  out,  with  a  hesitating  hand, 
as  if  uncertain  whether  to  do  so  or  no,  a  glittering  stiletto, 
sharp  and  cruel  to  see.  She  felt  the  point  of  it  mechanic- 
ally with  her  thumb  ;  and,  as  if  fascinated  by  the  touch, 
placed  ii  under  her  robe.  ''  I  may  have  need  of  it,"  mut- 
tered she,  '•  either  to  save  myself  or  to  make  sure  of  my 
work  on  another.  Beatrice  Spara  was  the  daughter  of  a 
Sicilian  Hravo,  and  she  liked  this  poignard  better  than 
even  the  poi-oned  chali(X\" 

La  Corriveau  rose  up  now,  well  satisfied  with  her  fore- 
sight and  preparation.  She  placed  the  ebony  casket  care- 
fully in  her  bosom,  cherishing  it  like  an  only  child,  as  she 
walked  out  of  the  room  with  her  quiet,  tiger-like  tread. 
Her  look  into  the  future  was  pleasant  to  her.  at  this  mo- 
ment. There  was  the  prospect  of  an  ample  reward  for  her 
trouble  and  risk,  and  the  anticifjated  pleasure  of  practising 
her  skill  upon  one  whose  position  she  reguded  as  siniilar 


^ 


i 


WEIRD  SISTERS. 


379 


to  that  of  the  great  dames  of  the  Court,  whom  Exili  and 
La  Voisin  had  poisoned  (hirin;,^  tlie  high  Carnival  of 
Death,  in  the  (hivs  of  Louis  (hiator/e. 

She  was  now  ready,  and  waited  impatiently  to  depart. 

The  good  man  Dodier  brought  the  caleciie  to  ihc  door. 
It  was  a  substantial  two-wheek'd  vehicle,  with  a  curious 
arrangement  of  springs,  made  out  of  the  elastic  wood  of 
the  hickory.  The  horse,  a  stout  Normiin  pony,  wi'll  har- 
nessed, sleek  and  glossy,  was  lightly  held  by  the  hand  of 
the  gooil  man,  who  patted  it  kindly  as  an  old  friend  ;  and 
the  pony,  in  some  sort  after  an  equine  fashion,  returned 
the  affection  of  its  master. 

La  Corriveau,  with  an  agility  hardly  to  be  expected 
from  her  years,  seated  herself  beside  Fanchon  in  the 
caleche,  and  giving  her  willing  horse  a  sharp  cut  with  the 
hish  for  spite,  not  for  need — g(.od  man  Dodier  said — only 
to  anger  him — they  set  off  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  were  soon 
out  <.'f  sight  at  the  turn  of  the  dark  jiine  woods,  on  their  way 
to  the  citv  of  (hiebec. 

Anglieque  des  Meloises  had  remained  all  day  in  her 
house,  counting  the  hours  as  they  Hew  by,  latlen  witli  the 
fate  of  her  unsuspecting  rival  at  Ijeaumanoir. 

Nighl  had  now  closed  in,  the  lamj)s  were  lit  ;  the  fire  again 
burned  red  upon  the  hearth.  Her  door  was  inexorably  shut 
against  all  visitors.  Lizette  had  been  sent  awav  until  the 
morrow  ;  Angel ique  sat  alone  and  expectant  of  the  arrival 
of  La  Corriveau. 

The  gay  dress  in  which  she  had  outshone  all  her  sex  at 
the  ball,  on  the  previous  night,  lay  still  in  a  heap  upon 
the  floor,  where  last  night  she  had  thrown  it  asidt,  like  the 
robe  of  innocence  which  once  invested  her.  Her  face  was 
beautiful,  but  cruel,  and  in  its  expression  terrible  as 
Medea's  brooding  over  her  vengeance  sworn  against 
Creusa,  for  her  sin  with  Jason.  She  sat  in  a  careless  des- 
Jiahilh\  with  one  white  arm  partly  bare.  Her  long  golden 
locks  flowed  looselv  down  her  back  and  touched  the  floor, 
as  she  sat  on  her  chair  and  watched  and  waited  f(jr  the 
coming  footsteps  of  La  Corriveau.  Her  lips  were  com- 
pressed with  a  terrible  resolution  ;  her  eyes  glanced  red 
as  they  alternately  reflected  the  glow  of  the  fire  within 
them  and  of  the  fire  without.  Her  hands  were  clasped 
nervously  together,  with  a  grijo  like  iron,  and  lay  in  her 
lap,  while  her  dainty  foot  marked  the  rhythm  of  the  tragi- 


I 

mi 

j 

l|i 

HI  ' 

Ir 

11 ' 

l|| ' 

1 

III 

1 

1 

380 


T//E  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


cal  thoughts  that  swept  like  a  song  of  doom  through  her 
soul. 

'II1C  few  compunctious  feelings  which  struggled  up 
into  her  mind  were  instantly  overborne  1)\  the  j^assionate 
reflection  that  the  lady  of  lieaumanoir  must  die  !  "  I 
must  or  she  must — one  or  other  !  We  cannot  both  live 
and  marry  this  man  !"  exclamed  she,  passionately.  "Has 
it  come  to  this,  which  of  us  shall  be  the  wife,  which  the 
mistress?  ]5y  God,  I  would  kill  liim  too,  if  I  thought  he 
hesitated  in  his  choice,  but  he  shall  soon  have  no  choice 
but  one  !  Her  death  be  on  her  own  head  and  on  Bigot's — 
not  on  mine  !  " 

And  the  wretched  girl  strove  to  throw  the  guilt  of  the 
sin  she  premeditated  upon  her  victim,  upon  the  Intendant, 
upon  fate,  and  with  a  last  subterfuge  .0  hide  the  enormity 
of  it  from  her  own  eyes,  upon  La  Corriveau,  whom  she 
would  lead  on  to  sujiirest  the  crime  and  commit  it  !  a  course 
which  Angelique  tried  to  believe  would  be  more  venial 
than  if  it  were  suggested  by  herself !  less  heinous  in  her 
own  eves,  and  less  vvicked  in^iie  siLrht  of  (tod. 

"Whv  did  that  mysterious  woman  go  to  Jie;iumanoir  and 
place  herself  in  the  path  of  Ange'liciue  des  Mekjises?"  ex- 
claimed she,  angrily.  "  Why  did  iligot  reject  my  earnest 
prayer,  for  it  was  earnest  for  a  Lcttre  dc  Cachet  to  send  her 
unharmed  away  out  of  New  France  ?  " 

Then  Angelique  sat  and  listened  without  moving  for 
a  long  time.  The  clock  ticked  loud  and  warningly.  There 
was  a  sighing  of  the  wind  about  the  windows  as  if  it  sought 
admittance  to  reason  ami  remonstrate  with  her,  A  cricket 
sang  his  monotonous  song  on  the  hearth.  In  the  wainscot 
of  the  room  a  death  watch  ticked  its  doleful  omen.  The 
dog  in  the  court  yard  howled  plainti\ely  as  the  hour  of 
midnight  sounded  upon  the  Convent  bell,  close  by.  The 
bell  had  scarcely  ceased  ere  she  was  startled  by  a  slight 
creaking  like  the  (opening  of  a  door,  followed  by  a  whisper- 
ing and  the  rustle  of  a  woman's  garments  as  of  one  ap- 
proaching with  cautious  stei)s  up  the  stair.  A  thrill  of 
expectation  not  unmingled  with  fear,  shot  through  the 
breast  of  Angelique.  She  sprang  up,  exclaiming  to  her- 
self, "she  is  come,  and  all  the  demons  that  wait  on  mur- 
der come  with  her  into  my  chamber  !  "  A  knock  followed 
on  the  door.  Ange'licjue,  veiy  agitated,  in  spile  of  her  fierce 
efforts  to  appear  calm,  bade  them  come  in. 


WEIRD  SISTERS. 


38X 


Fanchon  opened  the  door,  and  with  a  courtesy  to  her 
mistress,  ushered  in  La  Corriveau,  wiio  walked  straight  into 
the   room,  and  stood   face  to  face  with  Ani;eli(iue. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  women  instantly  met  in  a  search- 
ing ghmce,  tliat  took  in  the  whole  look,  bearing,  dress  and 
almost  tiie  very  thoughts  of  each  other.  In  that  one 
glance  each  knew  and  understood  the  other  and  could 
trust  each  other  in  evil  if  not  in  good. 

And  there  was  trust  between  tliem.  'I'he  evil  spirits 
that  possessed  each  of  tiicii  hearts,  shook  hands  together 
and  a  silent  league  was  sworn  to  in  tiieir  souls,  before  a  word 
was  spoken. 

And  yet  how  unlike  to  human  eye  were  these  two 
woinen!  How  like  in  God's  eye  that  sees  the  heart  and 
reads  the  spirit,  of  what  manner  it  is  !  Angelique,  radiant 
in  the  bloom  of  youth  and  beauty,  her  golden  hair  Boating 
about  h  •  like  a  cloud  of  glorv  round  a  daughter  of  the 
sun  !  with  her  womanly  perfections  which  made  the  world 
seem  brighter  for  such  a  revelation  of  completeness  in 
every  external  charm. 

La  Corriveau,  stern,  dark,  angular,  her  fine  cut  features 
crossed  with  thin  lines  of  cruelty  and  cvmning,  no  mercy 
in  her  eyes,  still  less  on  her  lips,  and  none  at  all  in  her 
heart,  cold  to  every  humane  feeling  and  warming  only  to 
wickedness  and  avarice,  ;•  lill,  tliese  women  recognized  each 
other  as  kindred  spirits,  crafty  and  void  of  conscience  in 
tlie  accomplishment  of  iheir  ends. 

*'  Had  fate  exchanged  the  outward  circumstances  of 
their  lives,  each  might  have  been  t'le  other  easily  and 
naturally.  The  proud  beau'y  had  nothing  in  her  heart 
better  than  La  Corriveau,  and  the  witch  of  St.  Valier  if 
born  in  luxury  and  endcnved  with  beauty  and  wealth, 
would  have  rivalled  Angelique  in  seductiveness  and  hardly 
fallen  below  her  in  ambition  and  jDOAer. 

La  Corriveau  saluted  Angelic|ue,  who  made  a  sign  to 
Fanchon  to  retire.  The  girl  obeyed  somewhat  reluctantly. 
She  had  hoped  to  be  present  at  the  interview  between  her 
aunt  and  her  mistress,  for  h.er  curiosi^y  was  greatly  excited, 
and  she  now  suspected  thure  was  more  in  this  visit  than 
she  had  been  told, 

Angelique  invited  La  Corriveau  to  remove  her  cloak 
and  broad  hat.  Seating  her  in  her  own  luxurious  chair,  she 
sat  down  beside  her  and  bciran  the  conversation  with  the 


382 


THE  CHI  EN  D' OR. 


11 


usual  phititxides  and  commonplaces  of  the  time,  dwelling 
longer  upon  them  than  need  was,  as  if  she  hesitated  or 
feared  to  bring  up  the  real  subject  of  this  midnight  con- 
ference. 

"  Mv^adv  is  fair  to  look  on.  All  women  will  admit 
that,  all  men  swear  to  it!"  said  La  Corriveau  in  a  harsh 
voice,  that  grated  ominously  like  the  door  of  hell  which  she 
was  opening,  with  this  commencement  of  her  business. 

Angt'licjue  replied  only  with  a  smile.  A  compliment 
from  La  Corrixeau  even  was  not  wasted  upon  lier,  but 
just  p.ow  she  was  on  the  brink  of  an  abvss  of  explanation, 
looking  down  into  the  dark  pit,  resolved  yet  hesitating  to 
make  the  plunge. 

"  No  witch  or  witchery  but  your  own  charms  is  needed, 
Mademoiselle  !  "  continued  La  Corriveau,  falling  into  the 
tone  ()i  llattery  she  often  used  towards  her  dupes,  "  to  make 
what  fortune  you  will  in  this  world  ;  what  pearl  ever  fished 
out  of  the  sea  could  add  a  grace  to  tliis  wondrous  hair  of 
yours  ?  Permit  me  to  touch  it,  Mademoiselle  .'  " 

La  Corriveau  took  hold  of  a  thick  tress  and  held  it  up 
to  the  light  of  the  lamp,  where  it  shone  like  gold.  Ange- 
lique  shrank  back  as  from  the  touch  of  tire.  She  withdrew 
her  hair  with  a  jerk  from  the  hand  of  La  Corriveau.  A 
shudder  passed  through  her  from  head  to  foot.  It  was  the 
last  parting  effort  of  her  good  genius  to  save  her. 

"  Do  not  touch  it  !"  said  she  quickly,  "I  have  set  my 
life  and  soul  on  a  desperate  venture,  but  my  hair  I  have 
devoted  it  to  our  Lady  of  St.  Foye,  it  is  hers,  not  mine  !  Do 
not  touch  it,  dame  Dodier." 

Angelique  was  thinking  of  a  vow  she  had  once  made 
before  the  shrine  of  the  little  church  of  Lorette.  "  My 
hair  is  the  one  thing  belonging  to  nie  that  I  will  keep 
pure,"  continued  she,  "so  do  not  be  angry  with  me,"  she 
added   apologetically. 

"  I  am  not  angry,"  replied  La  Corriveau,  with  a  sneer. 
"  I  am  used  to  strange  humors  in  people  who  ask  my  aid. 
They  always  fall  out  with  themselves  before  they  fall  in 
with  T  I  Corriveau." 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  have  sent  for  you  at  this  hour, 
good  dame  Dodier?"  asked  Angelique,  abruptly. 

"  Call  me  La  Corriveau  ;  I  am  not  gootl  dame  Dodier. 
mine  is  an  ill  name  and  1  like  it  best,  and  so  should  you, 
Mademoiselle,  for  the  business  you  sent  me  for  is  not 


WEIRD  SISTERS. 


3^3 


what  people  who  say  their  prayers  call  good.  It  was  to  find 
your  lost  jewels  that  Fanchon  Dodier  summoned  n.e  to 
your  abode,  was  it  not  ?  "  l^a  Corriveau  uttered  this  with  a 
suppressed  smile  of  incredulity. 

"  Ah  !  1  bade  Fanciion  tell  you  that,  in  order  to  deceive 
her,  not  you  !  ]kit  you  know  better,  La  Corriveau  !  It  was 
not  for  the  sake  of  paltry  jewels  I  desired  you  to  come  to 
the  city  to  see  me  at  this  iiour  of  midniij;ht." 

"  I  conjectured  as  much  !"  replied  La  Corriveau,  with  a 
sardonic  smile  whicii  showed  her  small  teeth  white,  even 
and  cruel  as  those  of  a  wildcat.  "The  jewel  you  have 
lost  is  the  heart  of  your  lover,  and  you  thought  La 
Corriveau  had  a  charm  to  win  it  back,  was  not  that  it, 
Mademoiselle  ?  " 

Angc'licjue  sat  upright,  gazing  boldly  in  the  eyes  of  her 
visitor,  "  Yes,  it  was  that,  and  more  than  that  1  summon- 
ed you  for;  can  you  not  guess?  you  are  wise.  La  Corriveau, 
you  know  a  woman's  desire  better  than  she  dare  avow  it  to 
herself  !  " 

"Ah!"  replied  La  Corriveau,  returning  her  scrutiny 
with  the  eyes  of  a  basilisk  ;  a  green  ligh*  (lashed  out  of 
their  dark  depths,  "you  have  a  lover  and  you  have  a  rival 
too  !  A  woman  more  potent  than  yourself,  in  spite  of  your 
beauty  and  your  fascinations,  has  caught  the  eye  and  en- 
tangled the  affections  of  the  man  you  love,  and  you  ask 
my  counsel  how  to  win  him  back  and  how  to  triumph  over 
your  rival  Is  it  not  for  that  you  have  summoned  La 
Corriveau  ? " 

"  Yes,  it  is  that  and  still  more  than  that  !  "  replied 
Angt'lique,  clenching  her  hands  hard  tog'Uher  and  gazing 
earnestly  at  the  fire  with  a  look  of  meiciless  triumph  at 
wh  It  she  saw  there  reflected  from  her  own  th(jughts, 
distinctly  as  if  she  looked  at  her  own  face  in  a  mirror. 

"  It  is  all  that  and  still  more  than  that,  cannot  you 
guess  yet  why  I  have  summoned  you  here  ?  "  continued 
Angelique,  rising  and  laying  lier  !  .'f t  hand  firmly  upon  the 
shoulder  of  La  Corriveau  as  siie  bent  her  head  and  whis- 
pered with  terrible  distinctness  in  her  ear: 

La  Corriveau  heard  her  whisper,  and  looked  up  eagerly, 
"  Yes,  I  know  r.ow.  Mademoiselle,  you  would  kill  your 
rival!  There  is  death  in  }()ur  eye,  in  your  voice,  in  your 
heart,  but  not  in  your  hantl !  You  would  kill  the  woman 
who  robs  you  of  your  lover,   and  you  have  sent  for  La 


1 

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11 

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i 


384 


7V/£  cm  EN  D'OR. 


Corriveau  to  help  you  in  the  good  work  !  It  is  a  good 
work  in  the  eyes  of  a  woman  to  kill  her  rival  !  but  why 
should  1  do  that  to  please  you  ?  What  do  1  care  for  your 
lover,  Ang(''.!.;>ie  des  Meloises  ? 

Angelique  was  startled  to  hear  from  the  lips  of 
another,  words  which  gave  free  expression  to  her  own 
secret  thoughts.  A  denial  was  on  her  lips,  but  the  lie 
remained  unspoken.  She  trembled  before  La  Corriveau, 
but  her  res^olution  was  unchanged. 

"  It  was  not  only  to  please  me,  but  to  profit  yourself 
that  I  sent  for  you  !  "  i'Vngelique  re])lied  eagerly,  like  one 
trying  to  outstrij)  her  conscience  and  prevent  it  from  over- 
taking her  sin.  "  Hark  you  !  you  love  gold,  La  Corriveau  ! 
I  will  gi\e  you  all  you  crave  in  return  for  your  help  ! 
— for  help  me  you  shall !  you  will  never  rejDent  of  it  if  you 
do  ;  you  will  never  cease  to  regret  it  if  you  do  not  !  1  will 
make  you  rich,  La  Corriveau  !  or  else,  by  God  !  do  you 
hear.'*  1  swear  it!  I  will  have  vou  burnt  for  a  witch  and 
your  ashes  strewn  all  over  St.  Valier !" 

La  Corriveau  spat  contemptuously  upon  the  floor  at  the 
holy  name.  "  Vou  are  a  fool,  Angeliciue  des  Meloises,  to 
speak  thus  to  me!  J)o  you  know  who  and  what  I  am  .^ 
you  are  a  poor  butterfly  to  flutter  your  gay  wings  against 
La  Corriveau  !  but  still  I  like  your  spirit !  women  like 
you  are  rare.  The  blood  of  Exili  coukl  not  have  spoken 
bolder  than  you  do  ;  you  want  the  life  of  a  woman  who  has 
kindled  the  hell  fire  of  jealousy  in  your  heart,  and  you 
want  me  to  tell  you  how  to  get  your  revenge  !" 

"  I  do  want  you  to  do  it  La  Corriveau,  and  your  reward 
shall  be  great  !  "  answered  Angelique  with  a  burst  of  im- 
patience.    She  could  beat  about  the  bush  no  longer. 

"  To  kill  a  wonianor  a  man  were  of  itself  a  pleasure  even 
.vithout  the  profit,"  replied  La  Corriveau,  doggedly.  "  But 
why  should  I  run  myself  into  danger  for  you,  ^Lldemoiselle 
des  Meloises .''    Have  you  gold  enough  to  balance  the  risk  ? " 

Angelique  had  now  fairly  overleaped  all  barriers  of  re- 
serve. "  I  will  give  you  more  than  your  eyes  ever  beheld, 
if  you  will  serve  me  in  this  matter.  Dame  Dodier  !" 

"  Perhaps  so,  but  1  am  getting  old  and  trust  neither  man 
nor  woman.  (ii\e  a  pledge  of  your  good  faith,  before  you 
speak  one  word  farther  to  me  on  this  business.  Mademoi- 
selle des  Meloises."  Le  Corriveau  held  out  her  double 
hands  significantly. 


WEIRD  SISTERS. 


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"  A  pledfje?  that  is  fjold  you  want  !"  replied  An^elique. 
"Yes,  La  Corriveaii  ;  1  will  iMiul  you  to  me  with  chains  of 
gold,  you  shall  have  it  uncounted,  as  I  get  it.  (iold  enough 
to  make  you  th.e  richest  woman  in  St.  Valier,  the  richest 
peasant  woman  in  New  France." 

*'  I  am  no  peasant  woman,"  replied  \:x  Corriveau  with 
a  touch  of  pride,  '*  1  come  of  a  race  ancient  and  terrible  as 
the  Roman  C\xsars  !  but  pshaw  !  what  have  you  to  do  with 
that?  give  me  the  pledge  of  your  good  faith  and  1  will  help 
you !  " 

Angc'lique  rose  instantly,  and  opening  the  drawer  of 
an  escritoire  took  out  a  long  silken  purse  filled  with  Lo  lis 
d'or  which  peeped  and  glittered  througji  the  interstic<!s  of 
the  net-work.  She  gave  it  with  the  air  of  one  who  cared 
nothing  for  money 

La  Corriveau  extended  both  hands  eagerlv,  clutching 
as  with  the  claws  of  a  Harpy.  She  pressed  the  purse  to 
her  thin  bloodless  lips  and  touched  with  the  ends  of  her 
bony  fingers,  the  edges  of  the  bright  coin  visible  through  the 
silken  net. 

"  This  is  indeed  a  rare  earnest  penny  !"  exclaimed  La 
Corriveau,  "  I  will  do  your  whole  bidding,  M  idemoiselle, 
only  I  must  do  it  in  my  own  way.  I  have  guessed  ;) right 
the  nature  of  your  trouble  and  the  remedy  you  seek.  I5nt 
I  cannot  guess  the  name  of  your  false  lover  nor  that  of  the 
woman  whose  doom  is  sealed  from  this  hour." 

"  I  will  not  tell  you  the  name  of  my  lo\'er,"  replied  An- 
gelique.  She  was  reluctant  to  mention  the  name  of  Bigot 
as  her  lover.  The  idea  was  hateful  to  her.  "  The  namsof 
the  woman  1  cannot  tell  you,  even  if  I  would."  added  she. 

"How,  Mademoiselle.''  you  put  the  death  mark  upon 
one  you  do  not  know  .-*  " 

"  I  do  not  know  her  name.  Nevertheless,  Tya  Corriveau, 
that  gold  and  ten  times  as  much  is  vours  if  vou  relieve  me 
of  the  torment  of  knowing  that  the  secret  chamber  of 
Beaumanoir  contains  a  woman  whose  life  is  death  to  all 
my  hopes,  and  disappr)intment  to  all  my  plans. 

The  mention  of  Beaumanoir  startled  La  Corriveau. 
"  The  Lady  of  l^eaumanoir  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  whom 
the  Abenaquis  brought  in  from  Acadia.-*  I  saw  that  ladv  in 
the  woods  of  St.  Valier,  when  1  was  gathering  mandrakes 
one  summer  day.  She  asked  me  for  some  water  in  (lod's 
name.     I  cursed  her  silently,  but  I  gave  her  milk.     I  had 

25 


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THE  c II I  EN  no  R. 


no  water.  She  thanked  me.  Oh,  how  she  thanked  me  !  no 
body  ever  before  thanked  La  Conivcau  so  sweetly  as  she 
did !  J,  even  1  batle  lier  a  g(K)d  journey,  when  she  started 
on  afresh  with  her  Indian  f,aiidcs,  after  asking  me  the 
distance  and  direction  of  Ikaumanoir. 

This  unexpected  touch  of  sympathy  surprised  and 
revolted  An<;elique  a  little, 

"  You  know  iier  then  j    That  is  rare  fortune,  La  Corri- 
veau,"    said  she,  "she  will  remember  you,  you  will  have 
.less  difficulty  in  gaining  access   to  her  and  winning  her 
confidence. 

La  Corriveau  clapped  her  hands,  laughing  a  strange 
laugh,  that  sounded  as  if  it  came  from  a  deep  well. 

"Know  her?  'I'hat  is  all  I  know;  she  thanked  me 
sweetlv.  I  said  so,  did  I  not?  but  1  cursed  her  in  mv 
heart,  when  she  was  gone.  1  saw  she  was  both  beautiful 
and  good,  two  thir,gs  1  hate." 

"Do  you  call  her  beautiful  ?  I  care  not  whetlier  she  be 
good,  that  will  avail  nothing  with  him  ;  but  is  she  beauti- 
ful. La  Corriveau?   Ls  she  fairer  than  I,  think  you?" 

La  Corriveau  looked  at  Angelique  intently  and  laughed. 
"  Fairer  than  you  ?  listen  !  It  was  as  if  I  had  seen  a  vision. 
She  was  very  beautiful,  and  very  sad  ;  I  could  wish  it  were 
another  than  she,  for  Oh !  she  spoke  to  me  the  sweetest 
I  was  ever  spoken  to  since  I  came  into  the  world." 

Angelique  ground  her  teeth  with  anger.  "  What  did  you 
do,  La  Corriveau?  Did  you  not  not  wish  her  dead  ;  did  you 
think  the  Intendant  or  any  man  could  not  help  loving  her 
to  the  rejection  of  any  other  woman  in  the  world  ?  What 
did  you  do  ?  " 

"Do?  I  went  on  picking  my  mandrakes  in  the  forest, 
and  waited  for  you  to  send  for  I^a  Corriveau  !  You  desire 
to  punish  the  Intendant  for  his  treachery  in  forsaking  you 
for  one  more  beautiful  and  l)etter  !  " 

It  was  but  a  bold  guess  of  La  Corriveau,  but  she  had 
divined  the  truth.  The  Intendant  Bigot  was  the  man  who 
was  playing  false  with  Angelique. 

Her  words  tilled  up  the  measure  of  Angelique's  jealous 
hate,  and  confirmed  her  terrilile  resolution.  Jealousy  is 
never  so  onniipotent  as  when  its  rank  suspicions  are  fed 
and  watered  by  the  tales  of  others. 

"There  can  be  but  one  life  between  her  and  me!" 
replied  the  vehement  girl ;  "  Ange'lique  des  Meloises  would 


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WEIRD  SISTERS. 


387 


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die  a  thousand  deaths  rather  than  h've  to  feed  on  the 
crumbs  of  any  man's  love  while  anotlier  woman  feasts 
at  his  table.  1  sent  for  you,  La  Corriveau,  to  take  my  gold 
and  kill  that  woman  !  " 

"  Kill  that  woman  !  It  is  easily  said,  Mademoiselle,  but 
I  will  not  forsake  you  were  sl'ic  the  Madonna  herself!  I 
hate  her  for  her  goodness,  as  you  hate  her  for  her  beauty. 
Lay  another  purse  by  the  side  of  this,  and  in  thrice  three 
days  there  shall  be  weeping  in  the  Chateau  of  lieauman- 
oir,  and  no  one  shall  know  who  has  killed  the  couchquean 
of  the  Chevalier  Intendant  1  " 

Angelique  sprang  up  with  a  cry  of  exultation  like  a 
Pantheress  seizing  her  prey.  She  clasped  La  Corriveau  in 
her  arms,  and  kissed  her  dark  withered  cheek,  exclaiming, 
*'yes!  that  is  her  name,  his  couchcjuean  she  is!  His  wife, 
she  is  not,  and  never  shall  be  ! — Thanks  !  a  million  g(ildeii 
thanks,  La  Corriveau,  if  you  fulhl  your  prophecy.  In 
thrice  three  days  from  this  hour,  was  it  not  that  you  said  .? " 

La  Corriveau  cared  not  for  caresses,  and  strove  to 
release  herself  as  Ange'licjue  impetuously  wound  one  of  her 
long  golden  locks  round  her  neck.  "  I  would  not  let  you 
touch  my  hair  before,"  said  she  "  I  wind  it  round  you  now, 
in  token  of  my  love  and  my  desire  to  bind  you  forever  to 
my  fortunes." 

"Tush  !  your  love  !  save  such  folly  for  men  ;  it  is  lost  on 
me  !"  replied  La  Corriveau,  releasing  herself  from  the  clasp 
of  Angelique  and  unwinding  the  long  golden  tress  that 
encircled  her  throat. 

''  Understand  me  !  "  said  La  Corriveau,  *'  I  serve  you 
for  vour  monev,  not  for  vour  likin<j !  but  I  have  mv  own 
joy  in  making  my  hand  felt  in  a  world  which  I  hate  and 
which  hates  me  !  "  La  Corriveau  held  out  her  hands  as  if 
the  ends  of  her  fingers  were  trickling  j^oison.  "  Death 
drops  on  whomsoever  I  send  it,"  said  she,  "so  secretly  and 
so  subtly  that  the  very  spirits  of  air  cannot  detect  the  trace 
of  the  A(jua  lofana.'' 

Angelique  listened  with  amaze,  yet  trembled  with  eager- 
ness to  hear  more.  "  What !  La  Corriveau,  have  vou  the 
secret  of  the  Aqua  Tofana  which  the  world  believes  was 
burnt  with  its  possessors  two  generations  ago,  on  the  place 
De  Greve  ?  " 

"    Such  secrets  never  die,"  replied  the  poisoner,   "  they 
are  too  precious  I  Few  men,  still  fewer  women,  are  there, 


■i 


388 


T//£  cm  EN  D' OR. 


m. 


who  would  not  listen  at  the  door  of  Hell,  to  learn  them. 
The  Kinf;  in  his  palace,  tiie  Lady  in  her  tajiestricd  cham- 
ber, the  Nun  in  her  cell,  the  very  be<j;<;ar  on  the  street, 
would  stand  ow  a  pavement  of  hre,  to  read  the  tablets 
which  record  the  secret  of  the  Aiiita  Tufaiui.  Let  me  see 
your  hand,"  added  she  abruptly,  speakinij^  to  An;j;elique. 

iVn;;eli(iue  held  out  her  hand,  La  (Jorriveau  seized  it ; 
she  looked  intently  upon  the  slender  fingers  and  oval  palm. 
"There  is  evil  enough  in  these  long  sharp  spatuht  of 
yours,"  said  she,  '"to  ruin  the  world.  You  are  worthy  to  be 
the  inheritrix  of  all  I  know,  'i'hese  fingers  would  pick  fruit 
off  the  forbidden  tree  for  men  to  eat  and  die  !  The  tempter 
only  is  needed,  and  he  is  never  far  off !  Angelique  des 
Meloises  !  I  may  one  day  teach  you  the  grand  secret ; 
meantime,  I  will  show  you  that  1  possess  it." 


CHAPTER   XXXVIL 


"flaskets  of  drugs,  full  to  their  wicked  lips." 


'*    i 


!-**- 


La  Corriveau  took  the  ebony  casket  from  her  bosom, 
and  laid  it  solemnly  on  the  table.  ''J)o  not  cross  yourself," 
exclaimed  she  angrily,  as  she  saw  Angc'lique  mechanically 
make  tk.e  sacred  sign.  ''There  can  come  no  blessings 
here.  There  is  death  enough  in  that  casket  to  kill  every 
man  and  woman  in  New  France." 

Angel icjue  fastened  her  gaze  upon  the  casket  as  if  she 
would  have  drawn  out  the  secret  of  its  contents  by  the  very 
magnetism  of  her  eyes. — She  laid  her  hand  upon  it  caress- 
ingly, yet  tremblingly. — Eager,  yet  fearful,  to  see  its  con- 
tents. 

"  Open  it  !  "  cried  La  Corriveau,  "  press  the  spring,  and 
you  will  see  such  a  casket  of  jewels  as  Queens  might  envy. 
It  was  tiie  wedding  gift  of  Beatrice  Spara,  and  once  be- 
longed to  the  house  of  I)orgia — Lucrezia  liorgia  had  it 
from  her  terrible  father,  and  he,  from  the  Prince  of 
Demons !  " 

Angelique  pressed  the  little  spring — the  lid  flew  open, 
and  there  Hashed  from  it,  a  light  whicu  for  the  moment 


"FLASKETS  OF  DKCCS,  &>€.' 


389 


dazzled  her  eyes  with  its  brilliancy.  She  thrust  the  casket 
from  her  in  alarm,  and  retreated  a  few  steps,  iinaj;inin<:;  she 
smelt  the  odor  of  some  deadly  perfume. 

"  I  dare  not  approach  it,"  said  she.  "  Its  glittering 
terrihes  me.     Its  odor  sickens  me," 

"  Tush  !  it  is  your  weak  imagination  !  "  replied  I.a  Cor- 
riveau,  "  your  sickly  conscience  frij^luens  you!  \'ou  will 
need  to  cist  off  both  to  rid  Heaumanoir  of  the  j^rescnce  of 
your  rival  !  The  .-/y/A?  Tofvia  in  the  hands  of  a  coward 
is  a  <;ift  as  fatal  to  its  possessor  as  to  its  victim." 

Anyelique  with  a  stronuj  effort  tried  to  master  her  fear, 
but  could  not.     She  would  not  a.i:;ain  handle  the  casket. 

La  C'orriveau  looked  at  her  as  if  suspectini^  thisdisj^lay 
of  weakness.  She  then  drew  the  casket  to  herself  and  took 
out  a  vial,  <;ilt  and  chased  with  strange  symbols.  It  was 
not  larger  than  the  little  finger  of  a  delicate  girl,  its  con- 
tents glittered  like  a  diamond  in  the  sunshine. 

Ta  Corri\eau  shook  it  U]\  and  immediately  the  licpu'd 
was  filled  with  a  million  sparks  of  hre.  It  was  the  ^L/ua 
Tofaiia  undiluted  by  mercy,  instantaneous  in  its  effect  and 
not  medicable  by  any  antidote.  Once  administered,  there 
was  no  more  ho])e  for  its  victim  than  for  the  souls  of  the 
damned  who  have  received  the  tir.al  judgment.  One  drop 
of  that  brighl,  water  upon  the  tongue  of  a  Titan,  would 
blast  him  like  Jove's  thunderbolt,  would  shrivel  him  up  to  a 
black  unsightly  cinder ! 

This  was  the  poison  of  anger  and  revenge  that  would 
not  wait  for  time,  and  bra\'ed  the  world's  justice.  With 
that  vial  La  J>orgia  killed  her  guests  at  the  fatal  banquet 
in  her  palace,  and  Beatrice  Spara  in  her  fury  destroyed  the 
fair  Milanese  who  had  stolen  from  her  the  heart  of  Antonio 
Exili. 

This  lerrilile  water  was  rarely  used  alone  b\  the  poison- 
ers, but  it  formed  the  basis  of  a  hundred  slower  potions 
which  ambition,  fear,  avarice  or  hypocrisy  mingled  with  the 
element  of  time  and  colored  with  the  various  hues  and 
aspects  of  natural  disease. 

Angeliquesat  down  and  leaned  towards  La  Corriveau, 
supporting  her  chin  on  the  palms  of  her  hands  as  she  bent 
eagerly  over  the  table,  drinking  in  every  word  as  the  hot  sand 
of  the  desert  drinks  in  the  water  poured  upon  it.  "  What  is 
that  ?  "  said  she,  pointing  to  a  vial  as  white  as  milk  and 
seemingly  as  harmless. 


390 


THE  CniEN  D'OR. 


I 


11 


'.  i 


"That  !  "  replied  La  Corriveaii,  "  is  the  milk  of  mercy, 
It  brin<j;s  on  painless  consuinplion,  and  decay.  It  eats  the 
life  out  of  a  man,  while  the  moon  empties  and  fills  once  or 
twice.  His  friends  say  he  dies  of  quick  decline,  and  so 
he  does  !  ha  !  ha  !  when  his  enemv  wills  it  !  'I'he  stronjj 
man  becomes  a  skeleton,  and  blooinini^  maidens  sink  into 
their  graves  blighted  and  bloodless,  with  white  lips  and 
liearts  that  cease  gradually  to  beat,  men  know  not  why. 
Neither  saint  nor  sacrament  can  arrest  the  doom  of  the 
milk  of  mercy." 

"I'his  vial,"  continued  she,  lifting  up  another  from  the 
casket  and  replacing  the  first,  licking  her  thin  lips  with 
profound  satisfaction  as  she  did  so.  "  'I'his  contains  the 
acrid  venom,  that  grips  the  heart  like  the  claws  of  a  tiger, 
and  the  man  drops  down  dead  at  the  time  appointed  ! 
Fools  say  he  died  of  the  visitation  of  God  !  The  visitation 
of  God  !  "  repeated  she,  in  an  accent  of  scorn,  and  the  foul 
witch  spat  as  she  pronounced  the  sacred  name.  "  Leo  in 
his  sign  ripens  the  deadly  nuts  of  the  East,  which  kill 
when  God  will  not  kill !  He  who  has  this  vial  for  a  posses- 
sion is  the  lord  of  life  !  "  She  replaced  it  tentlerly.  It  was 
a  favorite  vial  of  La  Corriveau. 

"This  one,  '  continued  she,  taking  up  another,  "strikes 
the  dead  palsy,  and  this  kindles  the  slow  inextin:«uishable 
fires  (jf  Typhus.  Here  is  one  that  dissolves  all  the  juices  of 
the  body  and  the  blood  of  a  man's  veins  runs  into  a  lake  of 
dropsy.  This!"  taking  up  a  green  vial,  "contains  the 
quintessence  of  mandrakes  distilled  in  the  Alembic  when 
Scorpio  rules  the  hour.  Whoever  takes  this  licjuid," — La 
Corriveau  sho)k  it  up  lovingly, — *'  dies  of  tornunts  incura- 
ble as  the  foul  disease  of  lust  which  it  simulates  and 
provokes." 

There  was  one  vial  wliich  contained  a  black  liquid  like 
oil.  "  It  is  a  relic  of  the  past,"  said  she,  "an  heir-loom 
from  the  (///for/,  the  oinlers  of  Milan.  With  that  oil  they 
spread  death  through  the  doomed  city,  anointing  its  doors 
and  thresholds  with  the  plague  until  the  people  died. 

The  terrible  tale  of  the  ointers  of  Milan,  has  since  the 
days  of  La  Corriveau  been  written  in  choice  Italian  by 
Manzoni,  in  whose  wonderful  book,  he  that  will  may 
read  it. 

"This  vial,"  continued  the  witch,  "contains  innumera- 
ble griefs,  that  wait  upon  the  pillows  of  rejected  and  heart 


**  FLASKETS  OF  DRUGS,  &-C" 


39* 


broken  lovers,  and  the  wisest  physicums  are  mocked  with 
lyin^  appearances  of  disease  that  defy  his  skill  and  make 
a  fool  of  his  wisdom. 

"Oh,  say  no  more!"  exclaimed  Anj^elique,  shocked 
and  territicd.  li(iwe\er  inordinate  in  h'jr  desiies,  she  was 
dainty  in  her  ways.  "  It  is  like  a  sabhat  of  witches  to  hear 
you  talk,  La  Corriveau !  "  cried  she,  "  1  will  have  no.ie  of 
those  foul  thiiii^s  which  you  propose.  My  rival  shall  die 
like  a  lady!  1  will  not  feast  like 'a  vampire  on  her  dead 
bodv,  nor  shall  vou.  You  have  other  vials  in  the  casket  of 
better  hue  and  flavor.  What  is  this  .-'  "  continued  Anj;elique 
takinfr  out  a  rose-tinted  and  curiouslv  twisted  bottle  sealed 
on  the  top  with  the  mystic  penta;4on.  "This  looks  prettier 
and  may  be  not  less  sure  than  the  milk  of  mercy  in  its 
effect,  what  is  it.-*"  Ha!  Ila!  lauj^hed  the  woman  witii 
her  weirdest  laui^h.  **  V'our  wisdom  is  but  folly,  An;jjelique 
des  Meloises  !  Vou  would  kill  and  still  spare  your  en^mv  ! 
That  was  the  sinellin<;  bottle  of  La  I>rin\illiers,  who  took 
it  with  her  to  the  <;reat  Hall  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  where 
she  secretly  sprinkled  a  few  drops  of  it  upon  the  handker- 
chief of  the  fair  Louise  Oauthier,  who,  the  moment  she  put 
it  to  her  nostrils,  fell  dead  upon  the  floor  !  She  died  and 
gave  no  sii;n,  and  no  man  knew  how  or  why  !  Hal  she 
was  the  rival  of  i^rinvilliers  for  the  love  of  Gaudin  de  St. 
Croix,  antl  in  that  she  resembles  the  lady  of  Iieaumanoir,  as 
you  do  La  IJrinvilliers  !  " 

"  And  she  got  her  reward  !  I  would  have  done  the  same 
thing  for  the  same  reason  I  what  more  have  you  to  relate 
of  this  most  precious  vial  of  your  casket  ?  "  asked  Angelique. 

"  That  its  virtue  is  unimpaired.  Three  drops  sprinkL'd 
upon  a  Bouquet  of  flowers,  and  its  odor  breathed  by  man 
or  woman,  causes  a  sudden  swoon  from  which  there  is  no 
awakening  more  in  this  world.  Peojile  feel  no  pain,  but  die 
smiling  as  if  Angels  had  kissed  away  their  breath.  Is  it 
not  a  precious  toy,  ALidemoisellc  .''  " 

"  Oh!  blessed  vial  !  "  exclaimed  Angeliquc,  pressing  it 
to  her  lips,  '*  thou  art  my  g;)od  Angel  to  kiss  away  the 
breath  of  the  lady  of  Hcaumanoir !  She  shall  sleep  on  roses. 
La  Corriveau,  and  you  shall  make  her  bed  !  " 

"It  is  a  sweet  death,  befitting  one  who  dies  for  love,  or 
is  killed  by  the  jealousy  of  a  dainty  ri\al,"  replied  the 
witch,  "but  I  like  best  those  draughts  which  are  most 
bitter  and  not  less  sure." 


ft: 


fll 


r    ■    . 


1 


392 


7///i  cm  EX  lyoR. 


'' The  lady  of  licaiimanoir  will  not  be  liardcr  to  kill 
than  Louise  (laiitliitT  !  "  replied  An^eli(|ii{',  watching;  the 
glitter  (jf  the  via!  in  the  l;nn|)ii;;ht.  '*  She  is  unknown  even 
to  the  servants  of  the  ChAti-au,  nor  will  the  Intendant  him- 
self dare  to  make  public  either  her  life  or  death  in  his 
house." 

"  Are  you  sure,  Mademoiselle,  that  the  Intendant  will 
not  dale  to  make  public  the  death  of  that  woman  in  the 
Chateau  ? "  asked  La  Corriveau,  with  intense  eagerness  ; 
the  consideration  was  an  important  link  of  the  chain 
which  she  was  forginii. 

"  Sure  ?  yes,  I  am  sure  by  a  hundred  tokens  !  "  said 
Angelicjue,  with  an  air  of  triumjih.  "  He  dare  not  even 
banish  her  for  my  sake,  lest  the  secret  of  her  concealment 
at  IJeaumanoir  become  known.  We  can  safelv  risk  his 
dis])leasure  even  should  he  suspect  that  I  have  cut  the 
knot  he  knew  not  how  to  untie." 

"  You  are  a  !)old  girl  !"  exclaimed  La  Corriveau,  look- 
ing on  her  admiringly,  "you  are  woithy  to  wx>ar  the 
crown  of  Cleo|)atra.  the  t|ueen  of  all  the  gypsie;;  and  en- 
chantresses, 1  shall  have  less  fear  now  to  do  your  bidding, 
for  you  have  a  stronger  spirit  than  mine  to  su|)port  you." 

•'  'Tis  well.  La  Corriveau  !  Let  this  vial  of  l»rinvilliers 
bring  me  the  good  fortune  I  crave,  and  I  will  fill  your  lap 
with  <rold.  If  the  ladv  of  lieaumanfiir  shall  fmd  death  in 
a  bouquet  of  llowers,  let  them  l)e  roses  !  " 

"  But  how  and  where  to  tind  roses  .-•  they  have  ceased 
blooming,"  said  La  Corriveau,  hating  Angelique's  sen- 
timent, and  glad  to  find  an  objection  to  it. 

"  Not  for  her,  La  Coniveau,  fate  is  kinder  than  you 
think  !  "  Angelique  threw  back  a  rich  curtain  and  disclosed 
a  recess  filled  with  pots  of  blooming  roses  and  flowers  of 
various  hues.  "  The  roses  are  blooming  here  which  will 
form  the  bouquet  of  Beaumanoir." 

"  You  are  of  rare  ingenuity.  Mademoiselle,"  replied  La 
Corriveau,  admiringly,  "  if  Satan  prompts  you  not,  it  is 
because  he  can  teach  you  nothing  either  in  love  or  strata- 
gem." 

"Love!"  replied  Angelique  quickly,"  do  not  name 
that !  no  !  1  h..ve  sacrificed  all  love,  or  I  should  not  be 
taking  counsel  of  La  Corriveau  !  " 

Angelique's  thoughts  flashed  back  upon  Le  Gardeur 
for  one  regretful  moment.     "  No,  it  is  not  love,"  continued 


*' FLASKETS  OF  DRUGS,  6*C." 


393 


slic,  "but  the  (lM|ili(itv  of  a  man  before  whom  I  have  lower- 
ed my  |)ri(le.  It  i>  tin;  venijiMMce  I  hav;'  vowed  upon  a 
woman,  for  whose  sake  I  am  trilled  with!  It  is  that 
prompts  me  to  this  deed  !  iJiit  no  matter,  shut  up  the 
casket,  La  Corriveau,  wc  will  talk  now  of  how  and  when 
this  thinjx  is  to  he  done" 

The  wileh  shut  uj)  her  infernal  casket  of  ebony,  leaving 
the  vial  v\  Mrinviiiicrs  shining  like  a  ruby  in  the  lamplight 
upon  the  polished  table. 

The  two  women  sat  down,  their  foreheads  almost 
touching  together,  with  their  eyes  llasiiing  in  lurid  sym- 
pathy as  they  eagerly  discussed  the  position  of  things  in 
the  C'hAteau.  The  apartments  of  Caroline,  the  hcnus  of 
rest  and  activity  were  all  well  known  to  Angelitiue,  who 
had  adroitlv  lislied  out  every  fact  from  the  unsuspecting 
Fanchon  Dodicr,  as  had  also  I/i  Corriveau. 

It  was  known  to  Ange'lique  that  the  Intendant  would 
be  absent  from  the  city  for  some  days  in  conseciuence  of 
the  news  from  I''rance.  The  unfortunate  Caroline  would  be 
deprived  of  the  protection  of  his  \igilant  eye. 

The  two  women  sal  long  arranging  and  planning  their 
diabolical  scheme.  There  was  no  smile  upon  the  cheek  of 
Ange'lique  now.  Her  dim])les  which  drove  men  mad  had 
disappearefl.  Her  Ii|js,  made  to  distil  words  sweeter  than 
honey  of  H\bla,  were  now  drawn  together  in  hard  lines 
like  La  Corriveau's  ;  they  were  ciuel  and  untouched  by  a 
single  trace  of  mercy. 

Her  golden  hair  swept  loosely  over  her  white  robe.  It 
might  have  served  for  the  adornment  of  an  angel  ;  in  the 
intensity  of  her  feelings  it  seemed  to  cml  like  the  fabled 
snakes  on  the  head  of  iMegnsra.  Her  face  under  the  in- 
fluence of  diabolical  thoughts  seetned  to  put  on  the 
likeness,  the  very  features  of  La  ('orriveau.  As  their  eyes 
met  while  contriving  their  wicked  scheme,  each  saw  her- 
self retlected  in  the  face  of  the  other. 

The  hours  struc!;  unheeded  on  the  clock  in  the  room, 
as  it  ticked  louder  and  louder  like  a  conscious  monitor 
besiege  them.  Its  slow  finger  had  marked  each  wicked 
thought  and  recorded  for  all  time  each  murderous  word  as 
it  jDassed  their  cruel  lips. 

La  Corriveau  held  the  casket  in  her  lap  with  an  air  of 
satisfaction,  and  sat  with  eyes  fi.xed  on  Angelique,  who 
was  now  silent. 


394 


THE  cm  EN  noR. 


I  \ 


'hi 


"  Water  the  roses  well,  Mademoiselle,"  said  she,  "in 
three  days  I  shall  be  here  for  a  bouquet,  and  in  less  than 
thrice  three  days  I  promise  you  there  shall  be  a  dirge 
sung  for  the  lady  of  Beaumanoir. 

"Only  let  it  be  done  soon  and  surely,''  replied 
Ar.gelique,  her  very  voice  grew  harsh,  "  but  talk  no  more 
of  it,  your  voice  sounds  like  a  cry  from  a  dark  giUery  that 
leads  to  hell  !  Would  it  were  done  !  I  could  then  shut  up 
the  memory  of  it  in  a  tomb  of  silence,  for  ever,  for  ever  ! 
and  wash  my  hands  of  a  deed  done  by  you,  not  me  ! " 

"  A  deed  done  by  you,  not  me !"  she  repeated  the 
words,  as  if  repeating  them  made  them  true.  She  would 
shut  U]3  the  memory  of  her  crime  for  ever  ;  she  reflected 
not  that  the  guilt  is  in  the  evil  intent,  and  the  sin  the  same 
before  God  even  if  the  deed  be  never  done. 

Angel ique  was  already  an  eager  sophist.  She  knew 
better  than  the  wretched  creature  whom  she  had  bribed 
with  money,  how  intensely  wicked  was  the  thing  she  was 
tempting  her  to  do,  but  her  jealousy  maddened  her, 
and  her  ambition  could  not  let  her  halt  in  her  course. 

'i'here  was  one  thought  which  still  tormented  her: 
"  What  would  the  Intentlant  think?  What  would  he  say 
should  he  suspect  her  of  tlie  murder  of  Caroline?"  She 
feared  his  scrutinizing  investigation,  but  trusting  in  her 
power,  she  risked  his  suspicions,  nay,  remembering  his 
words,  made  him  in  her  own  mind  an  accessory  in  the  mur- 
der. 

If  she  remembered  Le  Gardeur  de  Fepentigny  at  all  at 
this  moment,  it  was  only  to  strangle  the  thought  of  him. 
She  shied  like  a  horse  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice  when  the 
thought  of  Le  (iardeur  intruded  itself.  Rising  suddenly 
she  bade  La  Corriveau  be  gone  about  her  business  lest  she 
should  be  tempted  to  change  her  mind. 

La  Corriveau  laughed  at  the  last  struggle  of  dying  con- 
science, and  bade  Angelique  go  to  bed.  "  It  was  twoliours 
past  midnight,  and  she  would  bid  Fanchon  let  her  depart 
to  the  house  of  an  old  crone  in  the  city  who  would  give 
her  a  bed  and  a  blessing  in  the  Dexil's  name." 

Angelique,  weary  and  agitated,  bade  her  begone  in  the 
Devil's  name  if  siie  preferred  a  curse  to  a  blessing.  The 
witch  with  a  mocking  laugh,  rose  and  took  her  departure 
for  the  ni^ht. 

Fanchon,   weary  of  waiting,  had  fallen  asleep.      She 


THE  BROAD  BLACK  GATEWAY  OF  A  LIE. 


395 


roused  herself,  offering;  to  accompany  her  aunt  in  hopes  of 
learning  somelhinij;  of  her  interview  with  her  mistress. 
All  she  got  was  a  whisper  that  the  jewels  were  found.  La 
Corriveau  passed  out  into  the  darkness,  and  plodded  her 
way  to  the  house  of  her  friend,  where  she  resolved  to  stay 
until  she  accomplished  the  secret  and  cruel  deed  she  had 
undertaken  to  perform. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


THE    BROAD    BLACK    GATEWAY    OF    A    LIE. 


The  Count  de  la  Galissonniere  was  seated  'v^  his  cabinet 
a  week  after  the  arrival  of  La  Corriveau  on  her  fatal 
errand.  It  was  a  plain,  comfortable  apartment  he  sat  in, 
hung  with  arras  and  adorned  with  maps  and  j)ictures.  It 
was  there  he  held  his  daily  sittings  for  the  ordinary  despatch 
of  business  with  a  few  such  councillors  as  the  occasion 
required  to  be  present. 

The  tabic  was  loaded  with  letters,  memorandums  and 
bundles  of  papers  tied  up  in  official  style.  Despatciies 
of  royal  ministers,  bearing  the  broad  seal  of  France. 
Reports  from  officers  of  posts  far  and  near  in  New  France 
lay  mingled  together  with  silvery  strij^s  of  ihe  inner  bark 
of  the  birch,  painted  witii  hieroglyjjhics.  giving  accounts  of 
war  parties  on  the  Eastern  frontier  and  in  the  far  West, 
signed  by  the  totems  of  Indian  chiefs  in  alliance  with 
France.  There  was  a  newly  arrived  parcel  of  letters  from 
the  bold,  enterpiising  Sieur  de  Verendrye,  wlio  was  ex- 
ploring the  distant  waters  of  the  Saskatchewan,  and  the 
land  of  the  Blackfeet,  and  man\'  a  missive  from  mission- 
aries, giving  account  of  wild  regions  which  remain  yet 
almost  a  terra  incognita  to  the  government  which  rules 
over  them. 

The  (Governor's  Bureau  in  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis  was 
not  an  idle,  empty  chamber  in  those  days.  It  was  filled 
with  the  spirits  of  ambition,  con(|uest  and  war.  From  it  as 
from  the  cave  of  Eolus,  went  forth  storms  and  tempests, 
which  shook  the  continent  and   carried   the  commands  of 


396 


THE  CHI  EN-  HOR. 


1  '. 


f, 


Onontlo,  the  Governor,  to  the  Indian  nations  of  the  farth- 
est rci^ions  of  Nf)rtii   America. 

At  the  (Jovernor's  elbow  sat  his  friend  Bishop  Pont- 
briand  with  a  secretary  inimjr.sed  in  papers.  In  front  of  him 
was  the  Inteiuhmt  witii  Varin,  I'enisault  and  d'Estei3e.  On 
one  side  of  the  tal)le,  La  Corne  St.  Lnc  was  examining; 
some  Indian  despatches  witii  Riijaud  de  Vauch'euil,  Chiude 
lieauiiarnois,  and  tlie  venerable  Abbe  Piquet,  over- 
looking with  deep  interest  the  rude  pictorial  dispatches  in 
the  hands  of  La  Corne.  'I'wo  gentlemen  of  the  law  in 
furred  gowns  and  bands  stood  wailing  at  one  end  of  the 
room  witii  books  under  their  arms  and  budgets  of  papers 
in  their  Jiands  ready  to  argue  before  the  council  some 
knotty  point  of  controversy  arising  out  of  the  concession 
of  certiiin  fiefs  and  jurisdictions  granted  under  the  Feudal 
hiws  of  the  colony. 

The  Intendant,  although  personally  at  variance  with 
several  of  the  gentlemen  silting  at  the  council  table,  did 
not  let  that  fact  be  visible  in  his  countenance,  nor  allow  it 
to  interfere  with  the  des]5atch  of  ]-)ublic  business. 

The  Inte.idant  was  gay  and  easy  to-day  as  was  his 
wonl,  wholly  unsusiJecting  the  foul  treason  that  was  plot- 
ting by  the  woman  he  admired,  against  the  woman  he 
loved.  His  opinions  were  sometimes  loftily  expressed,  but 
always  courteously  as  well  as  firmly. 

liigot  never  drooped  a  feather  in  face  of  his  enemies 
public  or  private,  but  laughed  and  jested  with  all  at  table 
in  the  exuberance  of  a  spirit  which  cared  for  no  one, 
and  only  reined  itself  in  when  it  was  politic  to  Hatter  his 
patrons  and  patronesses  at  Versailles. 

In  an  inner  aiDartment,  whose  walls  were  covered  with 
tiers  of  books,  forming  the  private  library  of  the  Gover- 
nor, might  be  seen  through  a  half  open  door  the  portly 
form  and  larjje  flaxen  head  of  Peter  Kalm. 

The  enthusiastic  investigator  of  science  sat  by  himself 
at  a  table  entrenched  behind  a  wall  of  volumes  which  he 
had  taken  down  from  their  shelves,  and  continued  to  pile 
up  on  the  table  before  hirii  as  he  consulted  them.  His 
broad,  florid  face  was  largely  visible,  like  a  full  moon  peer- 
ing over  the  edge  of  an  eastern  hill. 

The  business  of  the  council  had  begun.  The  mass  of 
papers  which  lay  at  the  left  hand  of  the  Governor,  were 
opened  and  read  seriatim   by  his   Secretary,  and  debated, 


THE  BROAD  BLACK  GATEWAY  OF  A  LIE. 


397 


referred,  decided  upon,  or  judgment  postponed,  as  the  case 
seemed  best  to  the  Council. 

The  Count  was  a  man  of  method  and  despatch,  clear 
headed  and  singularlv  free  from  prejudice,  ambiguity  or 
hesitation.  He  was  honest  and  frank  in  cf)uncil  as  he  was 
gallant  on  the  quarter  deck.  The  Intendant  was  not  a 
whit  behind  him  in  point  of  ability  and  knowledge  of  the 
political  affairs  of  the  colony,  and  surpassed  him  in  influ- 
ence at  the  court  of  Louis  XV,  but  less  frank,  for  he  had 
much  to  conceal,  and  kept  authority  in  his  own  hands  as 
far  as  he  was  able. 

Disliking  each  other  profoundly  from  the  total  diverg- 
ence of  their  characters,  opinions  and  habits,  the  Governor 
and  Intendant  still  met  courteously  at  the  council  table, 
and  not  without  a  certain  respect  for  the  rare  talents  which 
each  recognized  in  the  other. 

Many  of  the  papers  lying  before  them  were  on  subjects 
relating  to  the  internal  administration  of  the  colony. 
Petitions  of  the  people  suffering  from  the  exactions  of  the 
commissaries  of  the  armv,  remonstrances  airainst  the 
late  decrees  of  the  Intendant,  and  arrets  of  the  high 
court  of  justice  confirming  the  right  of  the  Grand  Com- 
pany to  exercise  certain  new  monopolies  of  trade. 

The  discussions  were  earnest  and  sometimes  warm  on 
these  important  questions.  La  Corne  St.  Luc  assailed 
the  new  regulations  of  the  Intendant,  in  no  measured 
terms  of  denunci^iiion,  in  which  he  was  supported  by 
Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil  and  the  Chevalier  de  Beauharnois. 
But  Bi^ot,  without  condescending  to  the  trouble  of  defend- 
ing  the  ordinances  on  any  sound  principle  of  public  policy, 
which  he  knew  to  be  useless  and  imj^ossible  with  the  clev- 
er men  sitting  at  the  table,  contented  himself  with  a  cold 
smile  at  the  honest  warmth  of  Li  Corne  St.  Luc,  and 
simply  bade  his  Secretary  read  the  orders  and  despatches 
froni  Versailles,  in  the  name  of  th'-  Royal  Ministers,  and 
approved  of  by  the  King  himself  in  a  ///  dc  yustiu'  which 
had  justitied  every  act  clone  by  him  in  favor  of  the  Grand 
Company. 

The  Governor,  trammelled  on  all  sides  by  the  powers, 
conferred  upon  the  Intendant.  felt  unable  to  exercise  the 
authority  he  needed,  to  vindicale  the  cause. of  right  and 
justice  in  the  colony.  His  own  instructions  confirmed  the 
pretensions  of  the  Intendant,  and  of  the  Grand  Company. 


398 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


VM 


The  Utmost  he  could  do  in  l)chalf  of  the  true  interests  of 
the  pe()[)le  and  of  the  Kin<;,  as  opposed  to  the  lierd  of 
greedy  courtiers  and  selfish  beauties  who  surrounded  him, 
was  to  s(;ften  the  deadening  blows  they  dealt  upon  the 
trade  and  resources  of  the  colony. 

A  decree  authorizing  the  issue  of  an  unlimited  quantity 
of  paper  bills,  the  predecessors  of  the  assignats  of  the 
Mother  Country,  was  stronglv  advocated  by  Bigot,  who 
sujiported  his  views  with  a  degree  of  financial  sophistry 
which  showed  that  he  had  effectively  mastered  the  science 
of  delusion  and  fraud  of  which  Law  had  been  the  great 
teacher  in  France,  and  the  Mississippi  scheme,  the  proto- 
type of  the  Grand  Company,  the  great  exemplar. 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  opposed  the  measure  forcibly. 
"  He  wanted  no  paper  lies,"  he  said,  "  to  cheat  the  hus- 
bandman of  his  corn  and  the  laborer  of  his  hire.  If  the 
gold  and  silver  had  all  to  be  sent  to  France  to  pamper  the 
luxuries  of  a  swarm  of  idlers  at  the  court,  they  could 
buy  and  sell  as  they  had  done  in  the  early  days  of  the  col- 
ony, with  beaver  skins  for  livres,  and  nuisk-rat  skii's  for 
sous.  "  These  paper  bills,  "  continued  he,  '*  had  been  tried  on 
a  small  scale  by  the  Intendant  Hoquart,  and  on  a  small 
scale  had  robbed  and  impoverished  the  colony.  If  this 
new  Mississippi  scheme  propounded  by  new  Laws  ;"  and 
here  La  Corne  glanced  boldly  at  the  Intendant,  "is  to  be 
enforced  on  the  scale  proposed,  there  will  not  be  left  in  the 
colony  one  piece  of  silver  to  rub  against  another.  It  will 
totally  beggar  New-France,  and  may  in  the  end  bankrupt 
the  royal  treasury  of  France  itself  if  called  on  to  redeem 
them." 

"  Promise  is  not  pay  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  soldier, 
"just  as  hunger  is  not  meat !  He  would  trust  no  man,  he 
would  not  trust  himself,  "  he  added  parenthetically,  "with 
the  power  of  making  money  out  of  rags,  and  of  circulating 
lies  for  livres.  The  honest  habitans  knew  the  value  of 
beaver  skins  in  barter  for  their  corn,  but  they  knew  no 
value  that  could  be  fixed  on  scraps  of  paper  which  might 
be  as  plentiful  and  would  be  as  worthless  as  the  leaves  of 
the  forest  !  " 

The  discussion  rolled  on  for  an  hour.  Thj  Count  lis- 
tened in  silent  approbation  to  the  arguments  of  the  gentle- 
men opposing  the  measure,  but  he  had  received  private  im- 
perative instructions  from  the  king  to  aid  the  Intendant  in 


»  } 


THE  BROAD  BLACK  GATEWAY  OF  A  LIE. 


399 


I   > 


the  issue  of  the  new  paper  money.  The  Count  rchictantly 
sanctioned  a  decree,  which  filled  Ne\v-I'"rance  with  worthless 
assignats,  the  non-redemption  of  which  completed  the 
misery  of  the  colony  and  aided  materially  in  its  linal  sub- 
jugation by  the  English. 

The  pile  of  papers  upon  the  table  grachially  diminished 
as  they  were  opened  and  disposed  of.  The  council  itself 
was  getting  weary  of  a  long  sitting  and  showed  an  evident 
wish  for  its  adjournment.  Tiie  gentleman  of  the  law  did 
not  get  a  hearing  of  their  case  that  day  but  were  well  con- 
tent to  have  it  postponed,  because  a  postponement  meant 
new  fees  and  increased  costs  for  their  clients.  The  law- 
yers of  old  France,  wliom  La  Fontaine  depicts  in  his  lively 
fable  as  swallowing  the  oyster  and  handing  to  each 
litigant  an  empty  shell,  did  not  differ  in  any  essential  point 
from  their  brothers  of  the  long  robe  in  New- France,  and 
diilered  nothing  at  all  in  the  length  of  their  bills,  and  the 
sharpness  of  their  practice. 

The  breaking  up  of  the  council  was  deferred  by  the 
secretary  opening  a  package  sealed  with  the  royal  seal  and 
which  contained  other  sealed  papers  marked  special  for  his 
Excellency  the  Governor.  The  secretary  handed  them  to  the 
Count  who  read  over  the  contents  with  deep  interest  and  a 
changing  countenance.  He  laid  them  down  and  took 
them  up  again,  perused  them  a  second  time  and  passed 
them  over  to  the  Intendant,  who  read  them  with  a  start  of 
surprise,  and  a  sudden  frown  on  his  dark  eyebrows,  liut  he 
instantly  suppressed  it,  biting  his  nether  lip,  however,  with 
anger  which  he  could  not  wholly  conceal. 

He  ]5ushed  the  papers  back  to  the  Count  with  a  non- 
chalant air,  as  of  a  man  who  had  quite  made  up  his  mind 
about  them,  saying  in  a  careless  manner. 

"The  commands  of  Madame  La  Marquise  de  Pompa- 
dour shall  be  complied  with,"  said  he,  "  I  will  order  strict 
search  to  be  made  for  the  missing  Demoiselle,  who  I  sus- 
pect will  be  found  in  some  camp  or  fort,  sharing  the  couch 
of  some  lively  fellow,  who  has  won  favor  in  her  bright 
eyes." 

Bigot  saw  danger  in  these  despatches  aad  in  the  look 
of  the  Governor  who  would  be  sure  to  exercise  the 
utmost  diligence  in  carrying  out  the  commands  of  the 
court  in  this  matter. 

Bigot  for  a  few  moments  seemed  lost  in  reflection.     He 


400 


THE  cm  EN  IXOR. 


1  - 


u 


>  I 


f-4- 


;h 


I    i 


looked  round  the  table.aiul  secins;  many  eyes  fixed  upon  him 
spoke  boklly,  ahnosl  with  a  tone  of  defiance. 

*'  Pray  explain  to  tiie  councillors  the  nature  of  this  des- 
patch, your  Excellency  !  said  he  to  the  Count,  "  What  it 
contains  is  not  surprising  to  any  one  who  knows  the  fickle 
sex,  and  no  genlleman  can  avoid  feelin<;  for  the  noble 
Baron  de  St.  Castin  !  " 

*'  And  for  his  dauj;hter  too.  Chevalier  !  "  replied  the  j^ov- 
ernor.  "It  is  only  throuj^h  their  virtues  that  such  women 
are  lost.  But  it  is  the  strangest  tale  1  have  heard  in  New- 
France!" 

The  gentlemen  seated  at  the  table  looked  at  the  gov- 
ernor in  some  surprise.  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  hearing  the  name 
of  the  l^aron  de  St.  Castin,  exclaimed !  "  What  in  God's 
name,  your  Excellency,  what  is  there  in  that  desp  »tch  affec- 
ting my  okl  friend  and  companion  in  arms,  the  Baron  de 
St.  Castin  .? " 

"I  had  better  explain,"  replied  the  Count  :  "It  is  no 
secret  in  France    and  will  not  long  be  a  seciet  here." 

"This  letter,  gentlemen,"  continued  he,  addressing  the 
Councillors  and  holding  it  open  in  his  hand,  "is  a  pathet- 
ic appeal  from  the  Baron  De  St.  Castin,  whom  you  all 
know,  urging  me  by  every  consideration  of  friendship,  hon- 
or and  |)ublic  duty,  to  aid  in  finding  his  daughter,  Caroline 
de  St.  Castin,  who  has  been  abducted  from  her  home  in 
Acadia,  and  who  after  a  long  and  vain  search  for  her  by 
her  father  in  France,  where  it  was  thought  she  might  have 
gone,  has  been  traced  to  this  colony,  where  it  is  said  she 
is  li\ing  concealed  under  some  strange  alias,  or  low 
disguise. 

"  The  other  despatch,"  continued  the  governor,  "  is  from 
the  Marquise  de  Pompadour,  affirming  the  same  thing, 
and  commandinir  the  most  rigorous  search  to  be  made  for 
Mademoiselle  de  St.  Castin.  In  languaire  hardlv  official, 
the  Marquise  threatens  to  make  Stock-fish,  that  is  her 
phrase,  of  whosoever  has  had  a  hand  in  either  the  abduc- 
tion or  the  concealment  of  the  missing  ladv." 

The  attention  of  everv  <rentleman  at  the  table  was 
roused  bv  the  words  of  the  Count.  But  La  Corne  St. 
Luc  could  not  repress  his  feelings.  He  s])rang  up,  striking 
the  table  with  the  palm  of  his  hand  until  it  sounded  like  the 
shot  of  a  petronel. 

"  By  St.  Christopher  the    Strong  !  "    exclaimed  he,  "  I 


THE  BROAD  BLACK  GA  TEW  A  Y  OF  A  LIE.       401 

would  cheerfully  have  lost  a  limb  rather  than  heard  such 
a  tale  tokl  by  my  dear  old  friend  and  comrade,  about  that 
angelic  child  of  iiis,  whom  1  have  carried  in  my  arms  like 
a  lamb  of  God,  many  and  many  a  time  !" 

*'  Vou  know,  gentlemen,  what  befel  her  !  "  the  old 
soldier  looked  as  if  he  could  annihilate  the  Inlendant 
with  the  lightning  of  his  eves.  '•  1  athrm  and  will  mam- 
tain  that  no  Saint  in  Heaven  was  holier  in  her  purity,  than 
she  was  in  her  fall  !  Chevalier  liigot,  it  is  for  you  to  answer 
these  despatches  !  This  is  your  work  !  If  Caroline  de 
St.  Castin  be  lost,  you  know  where  to  find  her  !  " 

])igot  started  up  in  a  rage  mingled  with  fear,  not  of 
La  Corne  St.  Luc,  but  lest  the  secret  of  C'aroline's  con- 
cealment at  Ijeaumanoir  should  become  known.  The  furi- 
ous letter  of  La  Pompadour  repressed  the  prompting  of  his 
audacious  spirit  to  acknowledge  the  d;ed  openly  and  defy 
the  consequences  \  as  he  would  have  done  at  any  less 
price  than  the  loss  of  the  favor  of  his  powerful  and  jealous 
patroness. 

The  broad  black  gate-way  of  a  lie  stood  oj)en  to  receive 
him,  and  angry  as  he  was  at  the  words  of  St.  Luc,  Bigot 
took  refuge  in  it — and  lied. 

"  Chevalier  La  Corne  !  "  said  he,  with  a  tremendous 
effort  at  self  control.  "  I  do  not  affect  to  misunderstand 
your  words,  and  in  time  and  place  will  make  you  account 
for  them  !  but  1  will  say  for  the  contentment  of  His  Excel- 
lency and  of  the  other  gentlemen  at  the  council  table,  that 
whatever  in  times  past  have  been  my  relations  with  the 
daughter  of  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin,  and  I  do  not  deny 
having  shown  her  many  courtesies,  her  abduction  was 
not  mv  work,  and  if  she  be  lost,  I  do  not  know  where  to 
find  her ! " 

"Upon  your  word  as  a  gentleman  "  interrogated  the 
Governor,  "  will  you  declare  you  know  not  where  she  is  to 
be  found  ?  " 

.  "  Upon  my  word  as  a  gentleman !  "  The  Intendant's 
face  was  suffused  with  passion.  "  Vou  have  no  right  to 
ask  that !  neither  shall  you,  Count  de  La  Galissoniere  ! 
But  I  will  myself  answer  the  despatch  of  Madame  la 
Marquise  de  Tompadour!  I  know  no  more,  perhaps  less, 
than  yourself  or  the  Chevalier  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  where  to 
look  for  the  daughter  of  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin  ;  and  I 
proclaim  here  that  I  am  ready  to  cross  swords  with  the  first 

26 


402 


THE  C///E.V  D'OR. 


Ml :; 


%  \ 


,  'L 


:'i 


1;; 

HI 

gentleman  who  shnll  dare  l)rcathe  a  syllabic  of  doubt 
against  the  word  of  l"'ian(;ois  Dij^ot !  " 

Varin  and  Penisault  e.\clian;;ed  a  rapid  ^i^lance,  partly 
of  doubt,  partly  of  surprise.  'I'hey  knew  well,  for  Bigot 
had  not  concealed  fronv  his  intimate  associates,  the  fact 
that  a  stiange  lady,  whose  name  they  had  not  heard,  was 
livingin  the  secret  chambers  of  the  Chateau  of  IJeaumanoir, 
Bigot  never  told  any  who  she  was,  or  whence  she  came. 
Whatever  suspicion  they  might  entertain  in  their  own 
minds,  they  were  too  wary  to  express  it.  On  the  contrary, 
Varin,  e\'er  more  ready  with  a  lie  than  Bigot,  confirmed  with 
a  loud  oath  the  statement  of  the  Intendant. 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  looked  like  a  baffled  lion  as  Rigaud 
de  Vaudreuil,  with  the  familiarity  of  an  old  friend  laid  his 
hand  over  his  mouth,  and  would  not  let  him  speak.  Rigaud 
feared  the  coming  challenge  and  whispered  audibly  in  the 
ear  of  St.  Luc. 

"Count  a  hundred  before  you  speak.  La  Corne  !  The 
Intendant  is  to  be  taken  on  nis  word  just  at  present,  like 
any  other  gentleman !  L'ight  for  fact,  not  for  fancy !  Be 
prudent.  La  Corne  !  we  know  nothing  to  the  contrary  of 
what  Bigot  swears  to !" 

"  But  I  doubt  much  to  the  contrary,  Rigaud !  "  replied 
La  Corne,  with  accent  of  scorn  and  incredulity. 

The  old  soldier  chafed  hard  under  the  bit,  but  his 
suspicions  were  not  facts.  He  felt  that  he  had  no  solid 
grounds  upon  which  to  accuse  the  Intendant  in  the  special 
matter  referred  to  in  the  letters.  He  was,  moreover, 
although  hot  in  temperament,  soon  master  of  himself  and 
used  to  the  hardest  discipHne  of  self  control. 

"  I  was  perhaps  over  hasty,  Rigaud !  "  replied  La 
Corne  St.  Luc,  recovering  his  composure ;  "  but  when  I 
think  of  Bigot  in  the  past,  how  can  I  but  mistrust  him  in 
the  present.  However,  be  the  girl  above  ground  or  under 
ground,  I  \\\\\,  par  Dieti,  not  leave  a  stone  unturned  in  New 
France  until  I  hnd  the  lost  child  of  my  old  friend  !  La 
Corne  St.  Luc  pledges  himself  to  that,  and  he  never  broke 
his  word  !  " 

He  spoke  the  last  words  audibly,  and  looked  hard  at 
the  Intendant.  Bigot  cursed  him  twenty  times  over 
between  his  teeth,  for  he  knew  La  Corne's  indomitable 
energy  and  sagacity,  that  was  never  at  fault  in  tinding  or 
forcins:  a  wav  to  whatever  he  was  in  search  of.     It  would 


THE  BROAD  BLACK  GATEWAY  OF  A  LIE. 


403 


not  be  lonfj  before  he  would  discover  the  presence  of  a 
stranji;e  lady  at  IJeauinanoir,  tli(night  Biijot,  ami  just  as 
certain  would  he  be  to  find  out  that  she  was  the  lost 
daughter  of  the   15aron  de  St.  Caslin. 

The  <;ood  Bishop  rose  up  when  the  dispute  waxed 
wannest  between  the  Intendant  and  La  Corne  St.  Luc. 
His  heart  was  eaj^er  to  allay  the  strife  ;  but  his  shrewd 
knowledge  of  human  nature  and  manifold  exjierience  of 
human  quarrels,  taught  him  that  between  two  such  men 
the  intercession  of  a  Priest  would  not  at  that  moment  be  of 
any  avail.  Their  own  notions  of  honor  and  self  respect, 
would  alone  be  able  to  restrain  them  from  rushing  into 
unseemly  excesses  of  language  and  act;  so  the  good 
Bishop  stood  with  folded  arms  looking  on  and  silently 
praying  for  an  opportunity  to  remind  them  of  the  seventh 
holy  beatitude,  ''  Bcati  Pacifjci I'' 

Bigot  felt  acutely  the  difficulty  of  the  position  he  had 
been  placed  in  by  the  act  of  La  Pompadour,  in  sending  her 
despatch  to  the  Governor  instead  of  to  himself.  "  Why 
had  she  done  that  ?  "  said  he  savagelv  to  himself.  "  Had 
she  suspected  him  .'  " 

Bigot  could  not  but  conclude,  that  La  Pompadour  sus- 
pected hin.  in  this  matter.  He  saw  clearly  that  she  would 
not  trust  the  search  after  this  girl  to  him,  because  she  knew 
that  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  had  formerly  drawn  aside  his 
heart,  and  that  he  would  have  married  her  but  for  the 
interference  of  the  Roval  Mistress.  Whatever  might  have 
been  done  before  in  the  way  of  sending  Caroline  back  to 
Acadia,  it  could  not  be  done  now,  after  he  had  boldly  lied 
before  the  Governor  and  the  honorable  Council. 

One  thing  seemed  absolutely  necessary,  however.  The 
presence  of  Caroline  at  Beaumanoir  must  be  kept  secret 
at  all  hazards — until — until — and  even  Bigot  for  once  was 
ashamed  of  the  thoughts  which  rushed  into  his  mind, 
— until — he  could  send  her  far  into  the  wilderness,  among 
savage  tribes  to  remain  there  until  the  search  for  her  was 
over  and  the  affair  f<    gotten. 

This  was  his  first  thought.  But  to  send  her  away  into 
the  wilderness,  was  not  easy.  A  matter  which  in  France 
would  excite  the  gossip  and  curiosity  of  a  league  or  two  of 
neighborhood,  would  be  carried  on  the  tongues  of  Lidians 
and  voyageurs  in  the  wilds  of  North  Anierica  for  thousands 
of  miles.     To  send  her  away  without  discovery   seemed 


404 


THE  ClIIEN  D'OK. 


'  H' 


% 


( < 


(liffuMilt.  To  retain  her  at  JJeaiimanoir  in  face  of  the  search 
Avliich  he  knew  would  he  iiKule  by  the  Ciovt-rnor  and  tlie 
indomitable  La  ("orne  St.  Luc,  was  impossible.  The 
quandary  oppressed  him.  He  saw  no  escape  from  the 
dilemma  ;  but  to  tiie  credit  of  Hi^jot  be  it  said,  that  not  for 
a  moment  did  he  entertain  a  thf)U^ht  of  doin^  injury  to 
the  hapless  Caroline,  or  of  taking;"  advantaj^e  of  her  loni-ly 
condition  to  add  to  her  distress,  merely  to  save  himself. 

He  fell  into  a  train  of  sober  reflections  unusual  to  Jiim 
at  any  time,  and  scarcely  paid  any  attention  to  the  discus- 
sion of  affairs  at  the  council  table  for  the  rest  of  the  sittinn^. 
He  rose  hastily  at  last,  (les|>airin^  to  find  any  outlet  of 
escape  from  the  difficulties  which  surrounded  him  in  this 
unlucky  affair. 

"With  His  Excellency's  consent,"  he  said,  "  they  would 
do  no  more  bu.->iiR'ss  that  day.  He  was  \\xvx\  and  would  rise. 
Dinner  was  ready  aUthe  palace  wheie  he  had  some  wine 
of  the  <;olden  plant  of  Ay-Ay,  which  he  would  match 
against  the  best  in  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  if  His  l'l\cel- 
lency  and  the  other  gentlemen  would  honor  him  with  their 
company." 

'i'he  Council,  out  of  respect  to  the  Intendant,  rose  at 
once.  The  despatches  were  shoved  back  to  the  secre- 
taries, and  for  the  present  fors^otten  in  a  buzz  of  lively 
conversation  in  which  no  man  shone  to  greater  advantage 
than  liigot. 

"  It  is  but  a  fast  day,  your  Reverence  !  "  said  he,  ac- 
costing the  Abbe  Piquet,  but  if  you  will  come  and  say 
grace  over  my  graceless  table,  I  will  take  it  kindly  of  you. 
You  owe  me  a  visit,  you  know,  and  1  owe  you  thanks  for 
the  way  in  which  you  looked  reproof  without  speaking  it, 
upon  my  dispute  with  the  Chevalier  La  Corne.  It  was 
better  than  words,  and  showed  that  you  know  the  world 
we  live  ii^"^  as  well  as  the  world  you  teach  us  to  live  for 
hereafter. 

The  Abbe'  bowed  low  to  the  invitation  of  the  Intendant. 
It  was  not  tempting  in  itself,  for  he  knew  by  report  what  a 
free  table  the  Intendant  kept,  but  the  politic  churchman 
had  objects  of  his  own  which  he  never  for  a  moment  lost 
sight  of.  He  was  one  who,  as  the  proverb  says  :  would 
have  dined  with  Satan  for  God's  sake  and  a  sinner's." 

"  Thanks,  your  Excellency  !  "  said  he,  smiling,  "  I  have 
travelled   uninvited,  on  snow-shoes,   a   hundred    leagues 


THE  BROAD  BLACK  GATEWAY  OF  A  LIE. 


405 


tliroujj;Ii  the  wilderness  to  christen  or  absolve  a  poor  Indian. 
1  cannot  refuse  to  j4;o  a  mile  to  say  j;race  over  your  {grace- 
less table,  as  you  please  to  call  it  !  I  try  to  be  like  my 
jnaster,  St.  I'aul,  all  ihin^^^s  to  all  men,  and  I  shall  lind  my- 
self, 1  dare  say,  as  much  at  home  in  the  Palace  as  in  '.he 


wi-^wam. 


"That  is  riLjht  well  spoken,  Abbe  !  I  like  you  mission- 
aries !  \'our  cold  feet  carry  warm  hearts  !  \'ou  shall  be 
welcome  at  the  Palace  of  the  Intendant  as  you  are  in  the 
wigwam  of  the  savage.  ]>esides,  1  want  to  talk  with  you 
on  the  subject  of  that  settlement  you  project  at  La 
Presentation.'' 

"  The  main  reason  for  which  I  accepted  your  invitation, 
Chevalier!  It  is  the  one  great  thing  upon  my  heart  just 
now  as  a  minister  of  God  to  my  fellow-men." 

"  Well,  if  1  cannot  imitate  you,  I  can  admire  you,  Al)be  ! 
and  I  promise  you  a  clean  table-cloth  and  full  opportunity 
to  convince  the  Intendant  of  the  gf)odness  of  vour  sclxjine 
for  bringing  the  proud  Iroquois  under  the  don\inion  of  the 
King,"  replied  Pigot,  heartily,  and  honestly,  too,  in  this 
matter. 

The  Abbe  was  charmed  with  the  affability  of  Bigot  and 
nourishing  some  hope  of  enlisting  him  heartily  in  behalf  of 
his  favorite  scheme  of  Indian  policy,  left  the  Castle  in  his 
company.  The  Intendant  also  inviletl  the  Procureur  du 
Roy  and  the  other  gentleman  of  the  law  who  found  it  l")oth 
politic,  profitable  and  pleasant  to  dine  at  the  bountiful  and 
splendid  table  of  the  Palace. 

The  Governor  with  three  or  four  most  intimate  friends, 
the  Bishop,  La  Corne  St  Luc,  Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil  and 
the  Chevalier  de  Peauharnois,  remained  in  the  room,  con- 
versing earnestly  together  on  the  affair  of  Caroline  de  St. 
Castin,  which  awoke  in  all  of  them  a  feeling  of  deepest 
pity  for  the  young  lady  and  of  sympathy  for  the  distress  of 
her  fatlier.  They  were  lost  in  conjectures  as  to  the  quarter 
in  which  a  search  for  her  might  be  successful. 

"  There  is  not  a  fort,  camp,  house,  or  wigwam  ;  there 
is  not  a  hole  or  hollow  tree  in  New  France  where  that  jjoor 
broken-hearted  girl  may  have  taken  refuge  or  been  hid  by 
her  seducer,  but  1  will  lind  her  out,"  exclaimed  La  Corne 
St  Luc.  "Poor  girl  !  poor  ha]:>lessgirl  !  How  can  I  blame 
her  I  like  Magdelene,  if  she  sinned  much,  it  was  because 
she  loved  much  !  and  cursed  be  either  man  or  woman  who 
will  cast  a  stone  at  her  !  " 


*  /, 


K  < 


mi 

if: 


m 


406 


T//£  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


**  I.a  Conic!"  n-plicd  the  Clovcnior,  "the  spirit  of 
cliivalry  will  not  wholly  pass  away  while  yoii  remain  to 
teach  by  yonr  example  the  duty  of  brave  men  to  fair 
women.  St;iy  and  dine  with  me  and  we  will  consider  this 
matter  thorou<;hly  1  Nay,  I  will  not  have  an  excuse  to-day. 
My  old  friend,  Peter  Kalm,  will  dine  with  us  too,  he  is  a 
philosopher  as  perfectly  as  you  are  a  soldier  !  So  stay, 
and  we  will  have  something  better  than  tobacco  smoke  to 
our  wine  to-day  !  " 

"'I'he  tobacco  smoke  is  not  bad  either,  your  Excel- 
lency !  "  replied  La  Corne,  who  was  an  inveterate  smoker, 
"I  like  your  Swedish  friend.  He  cracks  nuts  of  wisdom 
with  such  a  grave  air  that  I  feel  like  a  ])oy  sitting  at  his 
feet  glad  to  pick  up  a  kernel  now  and  then.  My  practical 
philosophy  is  sometimes  at  fault,  to  be  sure,  in  trying  to  fit 
his  theories.  lUit  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  believe  many 
things  which  I  do  not  understand." 

"  Well,  you  will  stay  then,  and  you  too,  Beauharnois 
and  Rigaud  ?  The  Abbe  Piquet  has  gone  to  say  grace  for 
the  Intendant,  but  the  J5ishopwill  say  grace  over  our  table, 
we  will  have  a  feast  of  the  Gods  !  Ambrosia  and  Nectar 
on  tables  set  upon  the  pimiacle  of  Olympus  !  " 

The  gentlemen  laughed  and  consented  to  dine  with  the 
hospitable  Governor,  who  called  to  his  friend,  Peter  Kalm, 
to  join  them. 

The  Philosopher,  immersed  in  his  study,  had  not  even 
heard  the  high  voices  of  La  Corne  St.  Luc  and  the  Intend- 
ant through  the  half  open  door  of  the  library.  His  large 
flaxen  head  w-as  bobbing  up  and  down  as  he  bent  over  the 
volumes,  extracting  this  sentence  and  that,  which  he  duly 
and  carefully  copied  into  his  common-place  book  ""  and 
salted  down  like  meat,"  he  said,  "for  a  rainy  day  and  a 
long  winter." 

Kalm  heard  the  call  of  the  Governor,  however.  He 
rose  from  behind  his  entrenchment  of  books.  His  friend's 
well  known  voice  recalled  from  the  world  of  philosophy 
and  speculation,  to  the  world  of  actual  life  and  sociability. 
He  rejoined  the  governor  and  sat  down  at  the  table  with 
them. 

"  Kalm  I  "  exclaimed  the  cheery  voice  of  the  Count, 
"  this  is  just  as  when  we  were  together  at  Upsal  in  the  good 
old  times  when  we  wore  the  student's  white  cap  with  black 
brim.     You  remember  how  the  lads  called  you  the  Engi- 


THE  BROAD  lU.ACK  CATEWA  V  OF  A  LIE. 


407 


neer,  because  you  used  to  fortify  your  positions  with  such 
ramparts  of  (juotations  that  they  were  unassailable  as  the 
walls  of  Mi.l^Mrd." 

"Ah!  Count!"  said  he,  "those  were  indeed  good 
times,  before  we  found  out  the  burthen  of  being  old  and 
wise  overmuch.  All  was  bri<dit  before  us  then.  Notiiin!; 
was  dark  behind.  Kvery  niglt  we  lay  happy  as  birds  iu 
our  nests  with  (lod's  wings  brooding  over  us.  Kvery 
morning  was  a  new  revelation  of  light  and  knowledge,  of 
health,  vDuth  and  joy.  How  proud  young  Linna.*!  ■;  was  of 
his  brotlier  giants  !  His  Jotuns,  as  he  called  us,  of  iJie  new 
philosophy  ;  and  we  thought  ourselves  eagles,  untiedged, 
ambitious  brood  that  we  were  !  You  have  not  forgotten 
our  Northern  speech,  Count?" 

"Forgotten  it,  no!  I  would  not  willingly  forget  it! 
Listen,  Kalm ! "  and  the  governor  repeated  with  good 
accent  the  verse  of  an  old  Swedish  ballad,  a  grear  favorite 
once  am(    g  the  students  at  Uj)sal : 

SwcrifTcs  man  aktt-r  jae;  att  lofva 

Oni  (liul,  vill  luii;  iiader  j^ifva! 
Deras  <!yg(l  framtitramcd  akt  och  h3g 

Den  slund  dcr  jag  mfi  Icfval 

Swedish  men  I  incan  to  praise, 

God  stir  mv  heart  witliin  nie  ! 
To  boast  ihcir  tiiitli  and  manly  ways 

So  long  us  lite  is  in  jne. 

"That  proves  it,  Kalm  !  "  continued  the  governor  en- 
thusiasticaHy,  "  I  love  both  the  old  Northern  land  and  its 
old  Northern  speech,  which  is  only  fit  for  the  mouths  of 
frank  honest  men,  such  as  your  brave  Swedes.  What  says 
the  old  song  of  the  Goths  ?  " 


AUsmiiktig  Gud,  han  hafver  them  wiss 

Som  Svcrigc  aro  tro! 
Bade  nu  ock  fono  forutan  all  twiss 

Gud  gifve  them  ro  ! 
Svenskc  miin !  I  siigon  !  Amen ! 

Som  I  Svcrigcs  rikc  bo  I 


Almighty  God!  hold  firm  and  fast 

Thy  faithful  Swedes  ! 
Who  serve  their  country  first  and  last 

In  all  its  needs  1 
Amen  !  Amen  !  forever,  then, 

God  bless  the  land  uf  Swedish  men ! 


4oS 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


The  eyes  of  Peter  Kalm  filled  with  moisture  and  his 
breast  heaved  ;U  this  cordial  reference  to  his  far-off  liome 
by  the  stormy  IJaltic.  Me  j^rasi^ed  the  hand  of  his  friend.- 
"Thank  yon,  Count!  thank  yon,  RoUand  Michael  Barrin  ! 
I  never  thoui^ht  to  hear  my  dear  old  country  so  kindly 
spoken  of  in  this  distant  land  !  Its  praise  is  all  the  more 
pleasin;^  as  coming  from  one  who  knows  it  so  well  and 
who  is  so  just  in  all  he  says  and  all  he  does  !  " 

"  Well,  never  mind  !  "  the  Count  shyed  off  ever  from  a 
compliment.  '"  If  I  were  not  a  Frenchman  I  should  choose 
to  be  a  Swede  !  But  the  Castle  bell  is  ringing  to  let  the 
city  know  tiiat  his  Kxcellency  tlie  Governor  is  going  to 
dinner  and  during  that  time  nobody  is  to  interrupt  him 
with  business  !  Business  is  over  for  to-day,  K  ilm  I  I  have 
kept  my  friends  here  on  purpose  to  dine  with  you  and  eat 
and  drink  into  mulud  better  acquaintance." 

Kalm  was  delighted  with  his  friend's  cordial  manner 
and  with  the  mention  of  dinner,  for,  just  aroused  from  his 
books,  after  a  long  and  arduous  study  he  discovered  that 
he  had  a  nipping  appetite.  Like  all  wise  men,  Peter  Kalin 
was  a  hearty  eater  and  a  sound  (h  inker,  stinting  only  for 
health  and  sobriety's  sake.  .  He  had  fixed  his  pin  low 
down  in  the  tankartl  of  enjoyment,  and  drank  cheerfully 
down  to  it,  thanking  God,  like  a  pious  Swede,  for  all  good 
things. 

The  Count  took  his  arm  familiarlv  and  followed  bv  the 
othei  gentlemen  proceded  to  the  dining  hall,  where  his 
table  was  spread  in  a  style  which,  if  less  luxurious  than  the 
Iniendant's,  left  nothing  to  be  desired  by  guests  who  were 
content  with  plenty  of  good  ciieer,  admirable  cooking,  ad- 
roit service  and  perfect  hospitality. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS  AND  MUCH  LEARNED  DUST. 


Dinner  at  the  table  of  tne  Count  de  la  Galissoniere  was 
not  a  chill  affair  of  mere  eating  and  drinking.  The  con- 
versation and  sprightliness  of  the  host  fed  the  minds  of  his 
guests  as  generously  as  his  bread  strengthened  their  hearts, 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


409 


or  his  wine,  in  the  Psahiiist's  words,  made  their  faces  to 
sliine.  Men  were  they,  every  one  of  them  possessed  of  a 
sound  mind  in  a  sound  body  ;  and  both  were  well  feasted 
at  this  hospitable  table. 

The  dishes  were  despatched  in  a  leisurely  and  orderly 
manner,  as  became  men  who  knew  the  value  of  both  soul 
and  bodv,  and  sacrificed  neither  to  the  other.  When  the 
cloth  was  drawn,  and  the  wine  flasks  i^littered  ruby  and  <^ol- 
den  upon  the  polished  board,  die  old  butler  came  ui,  bearing 
upon  a  tray  a  lari;e  silver  box  of  tobacco,  with  i^ipes  and 
stoppers,  and  a  wax  candle,  burnini^^,  ready  to  light  them, 
as  then  the  fashion  was  in  companies  com|)osed  exclusively 
of  genlleme!!.  He  placed  the  materials  for  smoking  upon 
the  table,  as  reverently  as  a  priest  places  his  biretta  u[)()a 
the  altar, — for  the  old  butler  did  himself  dearly  love  the 
Indian  weed,  and  delighted  to  smell  the  perfume  of  it,  as 
it  rose  in  clouds  over  his  master's  table. 

"'I'his  is  a  bachelors'  bancpiet,  gentlemen."  said  the 
Governor,  filling  a  pipe  to  the  brim.  "  We  will  take  fair 
advantage  of  the  absence  of  ladies  to-day  and  offer  incense 
to  the  good  Manitc  u  who  first  gave  tobacco  for  the  solace 
of  mankind.'' 

The  gentlemen  were  all,  as  it  chance, 1,  honest  smokers. 
Each  one  took  a  pipe  from  the  stand,  and  followed  the 
Governor's  examjDle,  excejn  Peter  Kalm,  who  more  philo- 
sophically carried  his  pipe  with  him, — a  huge  meerschaum, 
clouded  like  a  sunset  on  the  iJallic.  He  filled  it  deliber- 
ately with  tobacco,  pressed  it  down  with  his  tingi'r  and 
thumb,  and,  leaning  back  in  his  easy  chair,  after  lighting 
it,  beg.ui  to  blow  such  a  cloud  as  the  portly  Burgomaster 
of  Stockholm  miiiht  have  envied  on  a  <rrand  council  ni<jht, 
in  the  old  Raadhus  of  the  city  of  the  (Joths. 

They  were  a  goodly  group  of  men,  whose  frank,  loyal 
eyes  looked  openly  at  each  other  across  the  hospitable  table. 
None  of  them  but  had  travelled  farther  than  I'lysses,  and, 
like  him,  had  seen  strange  cities,  and  observed  many  minds 
of  men,  and  was  as  deeply  read  in  the  book  of  human  ex- 
perience as  ever  the  crafty  King  of  Ithaca. 

The  event  of  ihe  afternoon — the  reading  of  the  Royal 
despatches — had  somewhnt  dashed  the  spirits  of  the  coun- 
cillors, for  they  saw  clearly  the  drift  of  e\ents  which  was 
sweejiing  Ni'w  i'"rance  out  of  <he  lap  <f  her  mother  country, 
unless  her  policy  were  totally  changed,   and  the  hour  of 


4IO 


THE  cm  END' OR. 


\.  \ 


I 


need  brought  forth  a  man  capabh  of  saving  France  her- 
self, and  her  faithful  and   imperilled  colonies. 

The  Count  was  not  slow  to  notice  in  the  others  the 
heavy  thoughts  he  felt  in  himself,  and  he  sought  to  banish 
them  from  his  table  by  tanning  to  other  topics  and  draw- 
ing out  some  of  the  hidden  stores  of  wisdom  which  he 
knew  were  hived  up  in  the  capacious  brain  of  his  Swedish 
friend, 

"  Kalm,"  said  he,  leaning  on  his  elbow,  in  the  kind, 
familiar  way  that  fascinated  all  men  with  the  Count  de  la 
Galissoniere — "  We  have  turned  over  many  new  leaves 
since  we  studied  together  in  Upsal.  The  tide  of  science 
has  ebbed  and  Howed  several  times  since  then." 

"  And  some  of  our  leaves  we  have  turned  backwards, 
Count.  An  era  of  discovery  is  ever  followed  by  an  era  of 
skepticism,  which  lasts  until  men  learn  how  to  subordinate 
their  new  theories  to  the  old,  eternal  verities.  Our  age  is 
growing  more  and  more  unbelieving  every  day.  We  light 
up  our  temples  with  new  lamps,  and  forget  that  the  sun  is 
shining  over  us  in  the  heavens  as  it  always  did  ! 

"  I  believe  you,  Kalm.  The  writings  of  Voltaire  and 
Rousseau  will  bear  evil  fruit,  of  which  if  France  eat  to  re- 
pletion, she  will  become  mad." 

"She  will  become  mad.  Count!  Unbelief  is  in  her 
brain,  and  she  cannot  control  the  fiery  passions  in  her 
heart.  Absit  omcii!  I  fear  an  age  of  terrible  probation 
awaits  your  noble  country.  The  first  symptom  of  her  de- 
cay is  seen  in  her  indifference  to  her  noble  colonies.  She 
concentrates  all  her  thought  upon  herself, — cares  only  for 
her  own  selfish  interests." 

The  Governor  reflected  bitterly  upon  the  despatches 
he  had  lately  received.  He  knew  that  France  was  given 
up  into  the  hands  of  extortioners  and  spendthrifts.  Money 
was  at  the  top,  money  at  the  bottom  of  every  motive 
of  action.  The  few  were  growing  richer  and  richer, — the 
many,  poorer  and  poorer — with  a  chasm  opening  between 
the  two  classes  of  society — between  king  and  kingdom — 
which  would  one  day  plunge  it  into  chaos.  The  colonies 
would  go  first,  however. 

The  Count  would  not  utter  the  painful  thoughts  which 
oppressed  him  ;  but  l)y  an  effort  wrenched  the  conversation 
into  another  channel. 

"Kalm!"  said  he.  "We  often  at -Upsal  debated  the 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


411 


question  of  the  antiquity  of  the  earth  especially  with  refer- 
ence to  this  new  world  of  ours,  which  neither  of  Us  had 
then  seen.  What  thinks  Upsal  now  of  the  argument  ?  has 
she  ever  opened  the  question  since,  from  her  chairs  of 
philosophy  ?  " 

The  Swede  spoke  confidently  in  reply : 

"  She  has  often  done  so,  Count,  and  the  ar^i^ument  is 
much  advanced.  A  new  light  has  arisen  in  our  intellectual 
heaven  which  promises  to  illuminate  all  philosophy  with 
its  ravs. 

"  Aye !  I  have  heard  somewhat  of  that,  Kalm  !  what 
does  the  new  philosophy  teach  ?  "  asked  the  Governor  with 
interest  expressed  in  every  feature. 

"  It  is  less  a  new  philosophy  than  a  new  illumination  of 
the  old,"  replied  Kalm.  "  If  we  lay  bare  the  foundations 
of  things  we  shall  see  that  the  world  is  old  as  time,  and 
that  before  the  creation  was,  time  was  not  ;   only  eternity. 

"Aye!  that  is  a  deep  thought,  and  may  be  true, 
Kalm  !  "  replied  the  Count  reflectively. 

"  I  believe  it  is  true,  Count  ;  science  points  to  revolu- 
tions and  C'iai.g''s  stretching  back  into  the  darkness  of  the 
past,  as  far  as  imagination  can  penetrate  into  the  darkness 
of  the  future.  The  infmitelv  swiit  of  the  celestial  motions 
of  light  and  gravity  has  its  opposite  and  counterpart  in  the 
infinitely  slow  of  the  changes  that  have  taken  place  ir  the 
formations  of  our  earth."' 

"  You  still  regard  the  world  as  very  old,  Kalm  !  It  was 
your  favorite  argument  at  Upsal,  I  remember." 

"  Then  as  now  !  look  here.  Count !  "  Kalm  took  a  piece 
of  coal  from  a  little  cabinet  of  minerals  ;  it  had  been  brought 
to  the  Governor  by  voyageurs  from  the  western  slopes  of 
the  Alleghany  mountains.  "  Millions  of  ages  ago  "  said  he, 
"in  the  depths  of  time,  the  sun  was  shining  as  brightly 
upon  an  earth  covered  with  tropical  vegetations  as  upon  the 
equator  to-day.  This  lump  of  coal,  the  condensation  of 
vegetable  growths  is  in  its  last  analysis  nothing  but  the 
heat  and  light  of  the  sun  elaborated  into  this  concrete 
form.  The  last  word  of  chemistry  is  heat  and  light  and 
that  only,  but  behind  these  is  the  cause  of  causes,  the  love 
and  wisdom  of  God.  Burn  this  coal,  you  release  the  long 
imprisoned  rays  of  that  ancient  sun,  and  they  give  out  the 
warmth  and  iilunnnation  of  a  primaeval  universe." 

"  This  fern,"  continued   the  philosopher,    plucking   a 


I[" 


412 


THE  CIIIEiY  nOR. 


*-|i 


spray  from  the  Sevres  vase  upon  the  talkie,  "  is  the  expres- 
sion of  a  divine  idea,  the  form  of  some  use  for  man's  ser- 
vice or  dehi^ht.  Its  tiny  !)ores  contain  a  principle  of  hfe 
capai)le  of  inlinite  mulliplicalion  for  e\er.  W'iiat  is  that 
life?  God!  who  in  his  love  and  in  his  wisdom  is  in  all 
t]iin<;s  according  to  their  form  and  use.  The  conservation 
of  the  universe  is  perpetual  creation.  Every  moment  of 
its  exi.tence  disj-)lays  as  ij^r^at  a  miiacle  of  divine  |)ower  as 
was  shown  when  the  earth  and  tlie  heavens  were  iirst  made 
by  his  Word.  The  same  power  wliich  called  the  world 
from  ciiaos  alone  preserves  it  from  falling  back  into  the 
same." 

*'  I  like  your  philosophy,  Kahn  !  "  rejilicd  the  Count. 
*'  If  the  universe  is  to  he  regarded  as  the  vesture  of  the  all- 
pervading  God.  it  may  well  seem  eternal,  although  sub- 
ject to  perpetual  change.  I  can  easily  believe  that  the  world 
is  very  old,  and  has  seen  many,  many  renewals  of  both  its 
youth  and  its  age." 

"  And  may  see  as  many  more.  The  form  of  matter  is  de- 
structible, but  not  its  essence.  Why?  Because  in  its  origin 
it  is  spiritual,  an  emanation  of  the  eternal  logos  by  which 
all  things  were  made  that  are  made.  The  earth  is  God  s 
footstool  in  a  sense  higher  than  science  has  yet  attained 
the  height  of." 

"  That  fern  had  a  beginning,"  remarked  Beauharnois, 
who  was  profoundly  interested  in  topics  of  this  sort. 
"Time  was  when  it  was  not, — how  know  you,  Herr  Kalm, 
when  it  began  ?  " 

"  In  the  book  of  the  earth  whose  leaves  are  stone,  the 
hieroglyphics  of  its  history  were  written  ere  man  appeared 
to  record  the  ages  and  cvcles  of  time.  Nor  can  his  arith- 
metic reckon  back  to  the  period  when  this  fern  began  to 
flourish.  We  may  read,  however,  of  the  order  of  its  crea- 
tion in  what  the  book  of  the  beginning  calls  the  third  day. 
This  part  of  America  was  then  dry  land,  while  Europe  and 
Asia  were  still  submergvul  under  an  (^cean  of  tossing  seas. 

"  You  regard,  then,  the  New  World  as  really  the  old  ? 
Herr  Kalm  !  and  the  elder  born  of  all  lands?"  asked 
Beauharnois. 

The  smoke  rose  lightlv  from  the  philosopher's  pipe  and 
curled  in  silvery  clouds  up  to  the  ceiling. 


(( 


Unquestionably,  Chevalier!"  rei)lie(l    he,  blowin 


frajrrant,  gentle  cloud  :  "  1  have 


^1  to 


!  " 
comp; 


ired  North  America, 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


413 


rock  with  rock,  |3kint  with  phmt.  tree  with  tree  ;  fishes,  lairds, 
animals  and  men,  all  hear  an  archaic  type  of  creation, 
before  which  the  creations  of  Europe  are  but  as  things  of 
yesterday." 

"  Our  savans  of  the  Academy  have  as  yet  made  only 
va2:ue  guesses  about  these  things.  Kalm  !  "  said  the  Count, 
*'  and  I  pretend  not  to  be  wiser  than  they,  l)ut  I  have  heard 
La  Corne  oflen  declare  that  there  was  something  so  settled 
and  petrified  in  the  nature  of  the  red  men  of  America  that 
he  looked  upon  their  very  children  as  older  in  their 
instincts  and  w.ivs  than  y^rown  men  of  the  white  race.  He 
has  always  said  that  our  Indians  bear  the  marks  of  an  im- 
mense antiquity." 

"  And  of  an  antiquity,"  interrupted  T.a  Corne  St,  Luc, 
who  had  listened  to  the  conversation  with  'i\\Kt<\  attention, 
"  so  old,  ossified,  and  worn  out,  that  it  can  never  recover  its 
spring  and  elasticity  again.  Nothing  can  bring  back  the 
youth  of  the  red  men,  or  change  their  ways.  The  very 
soul  of  the  race  has  set  and  hardened  in  the  form  it  will 
retain  until  it  disappears  from  the  earth." 

"  And  yet  they  may  say  of  tliemselves,  "  We  are  the 
heirs  of  a  lf)st  civilization  which  once  filled  America  with 
its  wonders,  before  the  light  of  knowledge  had  dawned  in 
any  part  of  the  old  world,'  "  remarked  Herr  Kalm. 

"  1  have  seen  in  the  tropics  ruins  of  great  cities  and 
temples  of  strange  (iods,  1  will  not  call  them  demons," 
continued  La  Corne. 

"That  would  be  un]-)hiloso]ihical  as  well  as  unchris- 
tian," replied  Herr  Kalm,  "  but  there  is  one  proof  of  the 
great  anticjuity  of  the  red  men  which  I  am  incapable  of 
appreciating  so  well  as  you.  The  languages  of  these  native 
tribes  are,  I  believe,  so  nice  in  structure  and  exhibit  such 
polish  and  smoothness  of  expression  as  can  only  ha\e  been 
acquired  by  ages  of  civilization,  just  as  the  round  pel>bles 
of  the  shore  testify  to  the  long  continued  action  of  the 
waves.  An  instrument  of  thought  so  perfect  could  not 
have  been  elaborated  by  wild  hunters  like  those  who  now 
possess  it." 

"  It  is  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  Red  men,  Herr  Kalm  !  " 

replied  La  Corne.     "  Their  languages   are  so  far  superior 

to  themselves  that  they  must  ha\e  comedown  fn-m  a  great 

ancient  civilization  of   which  they  ha\'e  forfeited  the  herit- 

*   age  and  lost  every  tradition  of  it  themselves." 


414 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


:\ .!' 


"  It  is  what  I  should  have  expected,  and  what  I  have 
found,  Chevalier,"  replied  Kalm.  "  Everythinj^  appertain- 
\x\^  to  the  new  world  proclaims  its  vast  antiquity.  Its 
rocks  were  dry  land  when  Europe  was  submerged  in  the 
ocean.  I  have  lately  gazed  with  wonder  and  veneration 
upon  the  old,  old  worn  down  mountains  of  the  Laurentides, 
which  are  to  all  other  mountains  of  the  earth  what  the 
Pyramids  of  Eijypt  are  to  all  other  works  of  man.  Their 
very  look  impresses  one  with  an  idea  of  the  hoa.  of  an 
unfathomable  antiquity.  There  we  find  the  veritable 
"  bank  a)id  shoal  of  time  "  which  poets  only  have  dreamt 
of,  the  first  land  that  emerged  from  the  universal  sea  when 


God  said  "  let  the   waters  be  gathered 


together   in   one 


t\ 


place  and  let  the  dry  laiid  appear  !  "  "The  Laurentides 
came  into  being  while  the  okl  world  and  the  rest  of  the 
new  were  only  ideas  pre-existing  in  the  foreknowledge  of 
the  Divine  Creator.  There,  if  anywhere,  will  perhaps  one 
day  be  discov^ered  the  first  dawn  of   life  upon  our  earth." 

"  Our  existing  flora  and  fauna  should  be  also  of  a  more 
antique  type  than  those  t  the  old  world,  a  fact  which 
philosophers  begin  to  recognize,  do  they  not .'' "  asked 
Beauharnois. 

"  Undoubtedly  I  you  recollect,  Count !  "  said  Kalm, 
turning  to  the  Governor,  "  Rudberg  used  to  remark,  that 
the  horse,  the  elephant,  the  camel  and  the  ox  are  not  in- 
digenous to  the  new  world,  but  that  the  buffaloes  of  the 
western  plains  are  of  the  same  archaic  type  as  the  mam- 
moth, while  the  turkey,  the  condor  and  the  Llama  bear  the 
stamp  of  an  older  creation  than  any  living  creatures  of 
Europe  or  Asia. 

A  cabinet  in  the  room  contained  some  well  preserved 
specimens  of  fishes  and  shells  ;  the  Count  was  a  great  col- 
lector. Herr  Kalm  took  from  it  one  of  those  most  ancient 
of  fishes,  a  garpike  from  Lake  Ontario,  the  last  living 
species  of  a  class  of  created  beings  that  peopled  the  pri- 
mtEval  waters  of  the  earth  before  ought  else  that  now  lives 
had  heard  the  fiat  of  the  Creator  to  come  forth. 

"  Yours  are  the  oldest  of  waters,  as  well  as  the  oldest 
of  lands,  Count  !  "  said  he.  "  The  oldest  forms  of  the  old 
world  are  modern  compared  with  this  fish  which  is  an 
idea  come  down  to  us  from  the  depths  of  eternity.  It  tells 
us  that  that  ancient  world  was  a  world  of  violence  more, 
perhaps,  than  is  ours   now  j    look  at  its  armor  of  defence,- 


^A 


OL  YMPIC  CIIA  RIO  TS,  E  TC. 


415 


its  teeth  of  ravin,  its  shape  for  swift  attack  or  escape.  It 
is  a  terrible  dream  of  the  past  !  How  antique  must 
not  America  be.  Count  !  to  contain  still  living  in  its  in- 
hmd  seas,  this  relic  of  primeval  times  !  " 

"  Shall  we  conclude  then,  that  the  native  men  of  Amer- 
ica are  not  a  new  but  an  old  race,  the  fallen  sons  of  a 
former  and  forgotten  civilization  ?  "  asked  Beauharnois ; 
"  and  yet  many  learned  men  are  of  opinion  that  its  primitive 
races  came  from  Tartary  and  Japan." 

"Aw//  //V///t'//"  If  they  had  done  so,  they  would  not 
have  failed  to  bring  with  them  the  horse,  the  cow  and  the 
sheep — animals  coeval  with  man  in  Asia,  and  yet  without 
ihese  animals  America  was  the  scene  of  a  great  primeval 
civilizati-^i.  " 

"  Vou  always  believed  in  that,  Kalm  !  "  said  the  gov- 
ernor, "  and  you  liked  to  read  Plato's  account  of  the  won- 
derful tale  of  Atlantis  which  was  told  to  Solon  by  the  Egyp- 
tian priests.  " 

"And  I  believe  it  yet.  Count !  Atlantis  was  known  to  the 
ancient  world  before  the  building  of  the  Pyramids,  but  in- 
tercourse with  it  could  only  have  been  casual,  else  there 
would  have  been  an  interchange  of  the  corn  of  Egypt  and 
the  maize  of  Americi.  Some  of  the  fruit  trees  of  Asia  would 
have  been  transplanted  and  found  flourishing  at  the  period 
of  its  rediscovery  by  Columbus  ;  I  say  its  rediscovery !  for 
I  claim  for  our  Northmen,  its  first  discovery.  Count  !  Its 
civilization  mav  have  been  indiirenous  althousfh  its  sun  had 
set  long  before  the  dawn  of  Asia,  yet  not  so  completely  but 
that  its  reflection  like  a  roseate  sky  in  the  west  overhung 
Mexico  and  Peru,  down  to  the  period  of  Spanish  discovery 
and  destruction. 

"  It  extended  far  beyond  Mexico  and  Peru,"  replied 
La  Corne.  "  In  my  travels  over  the  Continent  even  up  to 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  I  have  met  with  mounds  and  re- 
mains of  ancient  cities  overgrown  with  forests  and  half 
resolved  into  their  primal  clay.  Down  in  the  deep  forests 
of  the  tropics  are  still  more  wonderful  ruins  of  stone  tem- 
ples with  images,  carved  work  and  inscriptions,  like  those 
of  Egypt  which  remain  to  prove  the  early  civilization  of 
America." 

"  Here  is   some  confirmation   of  it.  La  Corne,  ' 


the  Governor       I   receixed 
de  Verendrye,  who  informs 


ition  of  it.  La  Corne,  "  replied 
to-day  a  letter  from  the  Sieur 
me  that  on  the  far-off  rugged 


.  t 


m 

:  k£i 

m 


^h 


416 


T//E  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


shores  of  L;ike  Superior  be  lias  found  anricnt  workinj^s  in 
mines  of  copper,  lead  and  silver  ;  \vorkini(s  of  limes  long 
past  and  by  nations  utterly  forj;otten  by  the  present  rude 
tribes  that  occupy  tbe  country." 

*'  Perhaps  it  may  be  so,  Count  "  replied  Kalm.  "  All  those 
territories  mav  in  some  remote  aire  have  formed  one  vast 
empire.  'I'he  Americans,  like  the  Chinese,  have  many 
lanu;na<^es  and  but  one  system  ot  Hieroglyphics  understood 
by  all.  Those  jDainted  strips  of  bark  upon  your  council  table, 
(xovernor,  would  be  read  with  ease  by  every  Indian  from 
the  Northern  Scnis  to  the  (iulf  of  Mexico. 

'i'he  wine  cups  were  replenished,  and  in  the  lull  of  con- 
versation fragrant  colunms  of  tobacco  smoke  rose  and  min- 
gled gently  in  a  silvery  cloud  over  the  lieads  of  the  group 
of  friends. 

The  conversation  shifted  to  other  topics — Rigaud  de 
Vaudreuil  had  kept  quiet  during  the  recent  discussion.  He 
was  a  soldier  and  a  patriot,  brave  and  honest,  but  he  would 
not  waste  a  word  on  antiquarian  subjects  which  he  did 
not  understand,  and  in  his  heart  thoroughly  despised.  But 
lie  was  eager  to  question  the  northern  philosopher  on  his 
opinions  respecting  the  war  and  the  political  signs  of  the 
times. 

"  Vou  have  had  the  privilege  of  a  passport  through 
England  as  well  as  her  colonies,  Herr  Kalm,"  said  he,  "  I 
do  not  ask  you  to  tell  what  you  saw  in  regard  to  military 
preparations — that  would  be  a  breach  of  the  laws  of  honor, 
as  well  as  of  hosi)itality  ;  but  it  would  be  no  breach  of  either 
to  ask  your  opinion  of  the  general  policy  of  the  English  in 
regard  to  North  America." 

"  It  is  to  conquer  New  France,  neither  more  nor  less  !  " 
replied  Kalm,  curtly.  *'  The  English  colonies  never  cease 
urging  it  out  of  fear  of  you,  and  the  mother  country  is  too 
ready  to  reap  the  glory  of  humbling  her  rival  without  re- 
gard to  the  consequences  of  such  a  conquest.  England 
and  her  colonies  in  America  seem  as  one  in  making  this 
the  corner  stone  of  their  policy." 

"  It  is  what  we  have  all  believed,  and  what  for  a  hun- 
dred years  they  have  tried  to  do,"  replied  Rigaud  de  Vau- 
dreuil ;  "  they  will  succeed  in  it  when  every  man  worthy  of 
the  name  of  Canadian  lies  stark  and  stiff  upon  the  frontiers 
— but  not  until  then.  I  thank  you  cordially,  Herr  Kalm," 
Rigaud  shook  him  by  the  hand,  "for  telling  the  truth,  how- 


OLYMPIC  cn.iRro'rs,  etc. 


417 


ever  unpakitable.  ]>ut  voii  spoke  of  the  conseq'U'nces  ot 
such  a  conquest,  Mcrr  K;ihn. — -what  ilo  you  mean  by  the 
conse(.|Ucuccs?  " 

'•  That  l''raiux'  will  have  her  rcvoiiiji'.  Monsieur  (le  Va'i- 
dreuil.  1  have  travelled  through  the  l'jit;lish  colonies  niih 
little  credit  to  my  eyes  and  ears  if  1  have  not  convinced  niv- 
self,  that  it  is  only  fear  of  the  jiower  of  I'Ynnce  which  1<  cps 
New  iMii^land  in  subordination  to  the  mother  count.y.  Tii* 
spirit  of  the  KnL:;lish  commonwealth  of  a  c:entury  1^0 
smoulders  hot  in  the  bosoms  of  the  old  Parliament  ri  nis 
of  New  ICnj^land.  They  could  be  true  to  a  (romw;  11,  tluy 
cannot  be  true  to  a  kin*;.  When  the  Kn^lish  colonics  sha  1 
have  made  a  conquest  of  New  l-'rance,  they  will  s|)  ed  Iv 
declare  a;4ainst  their  mother  countr\'.  The  couunonue  dtli 
will  once  more  contend  for  mastery  with  the  cro.vn. 
There  will  be  war,  an<l  France  will  then  take  her  revenije. 
Every  enemy  of  Kni^land  will  join  her  rebels  to  inHict  up  )n 
her  a  mortal  stab,  and  tear  fro  1  her  the  colonies  which 
make  her  so  ^xkiaX.  and  powerful." 

"''Par  Dicii  !  you  s|)eak  like  a  prophet,  Herr  Kalin  !  "  ex- 
claimed de  Vaudreuil,  slappinj;  his  thii^h,  '"  thai  would  bj 
a  revenjjje  sweet  as  our  concpiest  would  be  bit'er.  We  are 
not  i^nonr.u  in  New  l^'rance  of  the  secret  machinations  of 
the  disaffected  republicans  of  New  Favj^land  ;  they  ha  c 
made  overtures  to  us  in  times  past  to  aid  them,  hut  we 
would  not  countenance  them,  for  we  knew  that  in  reality  they 
were  the  bitterest  enemies  of  our  kiuL^'  and  of  our  cliurcli." 

"They  will  iirst  uj)root  your  kin;^  with  the  helj)  of  lvi.(- 
land,  and  then  overturn  their  own  in  the  New  World  by  the 
help  of  France.  The  war  will  be  loni^j  and  bloody,  and  en- 
mities will  be  raised  outlastinL^  a  hundred  years,"  replied 
Kalni  quietly,  but  his  words  had  force  in  them. 

"  By  St.  Michael  !  your  words  have  the  twan'4  of  trulli, 
Herr  Kalm,"  interrupted  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  **  but  France, 
if  she  be  true  to  herself  \r  I  to  us,  will  never  lose  her  do- 
minion in  the  New  World  throuj^h  the  enmity  of  the  English 
colonies." 

"  May  it  be  so,  Chevalier  !  "  replied  the  Swede,  refilling 
his  pipe,  "  The  grace  and  polish  of  France  are  needed  in 
the  civilization  of  this  great  continent  by  the  side  of  the 
rough  energies  of  England.  Happy  the  State  which  can 
unite  them  both  !  Such  a  one  I  see  quickening  in  the 
womb  of  the  future." 

27 


4i8 


THE  cntEN  lyoR. 


t 


■I) 

it': 


li 


^■'^ 

i 

^^K^ 

>» 

E^^v ''.:. 

>n 

Wk'" 

iffil   "' 

He 

'^n   ^ 

^B!j 

'  1 

1 

"Tell  inc  what  .you  see,  Kalni,"  interrupted  the  Gov- 
ernor; "We  are  all  philosopliers  to-nij^ht.  A  man  seems 
to  approach  nenrcst  the  diviiiL-  life  when  he  tries  to  live  it, 
and  he  feels  his  intellect  most  (iodlike  when  he  cK^arly 
forecasts  what  is  to  come  to  pass.  What  see  you  quicken- 
ing in  the  womb  of  the  future,  Kalm  ?" 

"  I  see  a  time  when  the  present  English  colonies  will 
rebel  and  cast  off  the  I^nglish  yoke,  not  because  it  is  heavy, 
but  because  it  is  easy  and  light,  and  does  not  keep  down 
the  stiff  neck  of  a  puritan  democracy.  I  see  a  time  when 
gathering  up  their  strength  to  declare  their  independence 
of  England,  they  will  hold  (nit  l)oth  hands  to  New  France, 
then  a  province  of  England,  f(jr  help.  'I'hey  will  appeal  to 
you.  La  Corne  St.  Luc  !  and  to  you,  Rigaud  de  Vauclreuil  ! 
and  all  New  France,  to  join  them  in  rebellion  against  F^ng- 
land,  and,  7/iiraf>i/r dicfu,  you  shall  treat  their  offers  with 
disdain,  and  prefer  to  remain  true  to  your  new  king  and 
your  new  allegiance,  to  which  you  shall  have  been  given 
up  by  France  !  Nay,  more,  listen,  Chevalier  La  Corne,  re- 
ject my  vaticination  if  you  will;  should  F^ngland,  having  be- 
come degenerate,  abandon  vou  in  vour  extremitv,  as  France 
is  likelv  to  do,  the  last  gun  fired  in  defence  of  her  flag  will 
be  by  the  hand  of  a  French  Canadian." 

"J?y  all  the  saints  in  Paradise  !"  exclaimed  La  Corne 
St.  Luc, — "And  by  all  the  devils  in  hell  !"  ejaculated  Ri- 
gaud de  Vaudreuil,  flaming  up  like  a  volcano,  "stop  your 
vaticinations,  Herr  Kalm !  Cassandra  never  predicted 
such  things  to  Troy  as  you  do  to  New  France.  What  you 
say  is  simply  impossible  !  " 

"  Inipossible  or  no,  it  is  what  T  see  in  the  not  distant 
future,"  answered  Kalm,  coolly. 

"The  only  thing  I  will  admit,"  said  La  Corne,  "is  the 
certainty  that  come  what  may,  loyal  and  Catholic  New 
France  will  never  join  hands  with  the  heretical  Puritans  of 
New  England." 

"  If  we  love  old  England  little,  we  love  New  England 
still  less,"  replied  La  Corne.  "  We  should  assuredly  never 
take  part  -with  the  latter  against  the  former.  But  we  shall 
never  forsake  France,  never  ! " 

"  But  you  may  be  cast  off,  La  Corne  1  France  may  part 
with  you  for  a  mess  of  pottage,  and  buy  peace  with  Eng- 
land by  )'our  sacrifice." 

"  France !  Chivalrous    France    will   die   in  her  harness 


OLYMPIC   CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


419 


first  !  "  exclaimed  La  Come,  with  all   the  emphasis  of  in- 
credulity. 

"But  France,  ruled  not  by  chivalry  liut  by  courtezans; 
by  money,  not  l)y  honor — I  will  not  pursue  the  black  thouj^ht, 
Chevalier  La  ("orne  ;  I'Vance,  not  chi\alr(>us.  mav  do  it.  I 
say  no  more  ;  forj;ive  me  !  "  continued  the  philosopher, 
oft'erin^j;  his  hand  to  La  Corne.  "  I  am  only  a  student  of 
man  and  nature,  a  dreamer,  for  the  most  part,  who  oujjjht  to 
keep  his  visions  to  himself.  The  Count  has  said  that  in- 
tellect is  most  God-like  when  it  clearly  apprehenils  the 
future.  It  may  be  so,  but  it  does  not  prevent  the  torment 
which  accompanies  like  a  curse  every  forecast  of  misfor- 
tune." 

"  A  truce  now  to  politics,''  exclaimed  the  Governor. 
*' Sufficient  for  the  dav  is  the  evil  of  it.  We  will  not  in- 
crease  our  miseries  by  adding  to  the  present  the  burden  of 
the  future.  Herr  Kalm  represents  old  Upsala,  and  we  will 
drink  a  health,  gentlemen,  a  Swedish  skal^  to  his  honor. 
Let  us  wasii  our  brains  clear  of  politics,  and  garnish  our 
upper  rooms  for  guests  of  a  pleasanter  sort." 

The  cups  were  again  replenished,  and,  the  Count  setting 
the  example,  all  rose  and  with  enthusiastic  energy  drank 
z.  skill  io  the  health  of  their  Swedish  guest. 

The  Count  leaned  back  in  his  chair  as  if  recalling  to 
mind  some  memories  of  long  ago.  "  Six  lustrums,"  said 
he,  "  thirty  years  of  manhood  have  begun  to  whiten  your 
locks  and  mine,  Kalm  !  since  we  finished  our  botanical 
studies  at  Upsal  under  a  youth  much  younger  than  our- 
selves, but  even  then  the  wonder  and  admiration  of  the 
University,  as  he  has  since  become  of  the  world.  Linnaeus 
was  still  a  student  of  Olaf  Celsius  and  Gammal  Rod- 
beck,  when  he  opened  the  treasure  house  of  nature  to 
scholars  and  professors  alike.  Long  may  he  wear  the 
crown  of  Philosophy  which  the  world  has  deservedly  placed 
upon  his  head  !  " 

"  Linna:;us  would  not  willingly  hear  that,  Count,"  re- 
plied Kalm,  "  he  is  simple  as  he  is  great,  and  like  Newton, 
thinks  he  has  only  gathered  a  few  pebbles  on  the  shore  of 
the  vast  ocean  of  truth  which  still  lies  unexplored  before 
him." 

"  No !  he  would  not  willingly  hear  it,  Kalm,  I  know," 
said  the  Governor,  "  but  wc  should  be  ungrateful  not  to 
say  it !     What  glorious  times  were  those,  when  our  only 


420 


THE  Cr/IE.V  D'OR. 


^^ 


care  w.as  to  learn  wliat  such  men  taiijjht  us  ;  when  Gammal 
Kodhcck  put  us  thiou;:;!!  tlu'  same  re;;iinc  and  courses 
whicli  he  never  wearied  of  tclHiinf  us  he  had  prescribed  for 
his  brave  pupil,  Charles  XI  I," 

'*  Yes  !  it  (juieted  our  <;ruiublinrr  rit  short  com.^ons,  dur- 
ing the  dearth  !"  rei)lied  Kahn,  lau;rhing  at  the  reminder, 
"Our  groats  tasted  all  the  sweeter  ai  we  believed  they 
had  formed  the  bone  and  sinew  of  .  arm  which  conquer- 
ed at  I^uliowa." 

'I'he  (Governor  plunged  into  a  stream  of  reminiscences  ; 
"Our  classmates  are  now  like  ourselves,  Kalni,"  said  he, 
"greyheaded  and  haply  wise  in  the  discovery  that  there 
is  nothing  new  under  the  sun,  and  that  all  is  vanity  ! 
Where  is  Crusenstolpe  ?  " 

"  Living  in  his  ancestral  Chateau  in  Wermland.  hunting 
stags,  cultivating  barley,  and  rearing  a  race  of  young  vSwedes 
to  bear  his  name  and  serve  their  King  and  country." 

"And  I'aigelshem  ?  "  continued   the  (roxernor. 

"In  the  army,  a  stalwart  Finland  Cuirassier,"  replied 
Kalm. 

"A  bravo  fellow,  I  warrant  hi"  '  observed  the  Gov- 
ernor,  "  and  Stroembom,  our  Wat  1,  where  is  he  ?  " 

"In  the  navv,  guarding  theskerric,  of  the  IJaltic  coast," 

And  Sternberg  ?  "  pursued  the  (jovenior  witii  the  eager- 
ness of  a  school  girl  asking  after  her  classmates. 

"  Councillor  of  S^ate  at  the  court  of  King  Frederick, 
as  he  was  at  that  of  ()ueen  Ulrica,"  was  the  reply;  "  I  am 
at  Abo,  a  humble  professor  of  i)hilos()phy  ;  and  Marken- 
shiold  is  preaching  patriotism  and  religion  to  the  Dalcar- 
lians.  A  needless  labor  !  but  the  Dalkarls  like  to  be  told 
they  have  done  their  w'hole  duty  to  God  and  the  King  ! 
and  they  don't  think  much  of  an  orator  who  does  not  tell 
them  so  !  " 

"Tl-iCre  was  one  more  of  our  class,  Kalm,  that  wonder- 
ful youth  Swedenborg,  where  is  he  ?  "  continued  the  Gov- 
ernor. 

"Ah!  he  is  at  Stockholm  in  the  body,  but  as  to  his 
spirit  in  all  the  seve;.  heavens,"  replied  Kalm,  hardly  ex- 
plicit enough  in  his  answer. 

"  What  mean  you,  Kalm  ?  He  was  the  brightest 
genius  of  the  University  !  "  observed  the  Governor,  his 
curiosity  quite  piqued. 

"  And  is  still,"  replied  Kalm,  emphatically.    "  Few  can 


OLYMPIC  err  A  RIOTS,  ETC. 


421 


follow  to  the  hcii^lits  wlu-rc  soars  the  spirit  of  S\vc(lciil)r)r<ij. 
After  exhaiistiii^  the  philosophy  of  earth,  he  is  now  explor- 
ing that  of  heaven  and  hell.  He  is  not  like  Dante  led  by 
the  eidolon  of  a  Virgil  or  a  Beatrice  through  scenes  of  in- 
tensest  imagery,  hut  in  visions  of  divine  j)i'nnission,  sees 
and  con\  L'lses  wiili  angels  and  spirits  in  their  abodes  of 
happiness  or  misery." 

"  You  surprise  me,  Kalm  !  young  Swedenborg  was  the 
deepest  math^'niatician  and  the  closest  obsi-rver  of  nature  in 
our  class,"  replied  the  (Jo\ernor.  "Olaf  Celsius  lalled  him 
preeminently  '*  the  philosopher,"  and  he  meritccl  the  desig- 
nation !     Me  was  anything  but  a  wild  enthusiast." 

"  And  is  so  yet.  JUit  you  know,  ('ount,  that  under  our 
northern  ire  and  snow  smoulder  liidden  tiros  which  break 
forth  sf)metimes,  to  iUuminate,  sometimes  to  devastate  the 
world." 

"Aye,  Kalm!  replied  the  Governor  with  a  look  of 
frank  assent,  "  I  there  recognize  your  Swerlish  genius!  It 
is  briglit  and  cold  as  a  winter's  sun  to  illuminate  tiie  fieKis 
of  science,  but  idled  with  irresistible  impulses  of  a  lierser- 
kir  to  lift  the  veil  and  look  at  things  never  seen  before  by 
mortal  m:in  !  A  genius  speculative  and  profound,  but 
marbled  with  deep  veins  of  mysticism,  jirimordial  like  the 
spirit  of  th(;  l^ddi  and  of  the  race  of  Odin!  In  strange 
ways  the  genius  of  the  North  reveals  itself  now  and  again, 
to  die  world's  wonder  and  admiration." 

"True,  C>)unt  !  and  our  Swedish  genius  never  revealed 
itself  more  markedly  than  in  the  soul  of  Swedenl^org.  TJiere 
is  no  height  of  pliilosopiiy  he  has  not  scaled,  no  deptli  of 
science  which  he  has  not  sounded.  His  bold  speculations 
are  carried  on  witii  such  a  force  of  reasoning  that  a  man  can 
no  more  escape  from  its  p;)wer  thin  he  could  get  out  of  the 
maelstrom  if  he  once  trusts  himself  to  its  sweep  and  drift." 

"  And  vet  I  do  wonder,  K;dm  !  that  so  crvstal  clear  an 
intellect  as  Swedenborsi's  should  turn  towards  mvsticism 
in  the  face  of  modern  philosophy  and  modern  science 
which  no  one  comprehended  better  than  himself!  " 

'"'' Fortassc  ct propt~:r  hoc^^  rej^lied  the  jjjiilosopher,  "but 
I  am  unequal  to  judge  as  yet  our  old  fellow-student.  He 
has  got  beyond  me  ;   I  feel  that  clearly." 

"When  did  you  see  him,  Kalm.''"  a:iked  the  Governor, 
conjuring  up  to  his  mind's  eye,  the  handsome  grave  youth 
of  his  early  acquaintance. 


f: 


422 


THE  CHIEN  nOR. 


"  Just  before  I  left  Stockholm,  on  my  present  vojMge," 
said  Kalni.  "  He  was  in  his  favorite  summer  house  in  the 
orcliard  behiiui  his  residence  in  the  Hornsgata.  You  know 
the  place,  (^ount.  It  is  there  the  Heavens  are  opened  to 
him,  and  there  he  writes  the  wonders  of  the  Arcana  Cclcstia 
which  he  will  one  day  deliver  to  the  world," 

"  You  siuprise  me,  Kahii  !  I  could  not  have  conjectured 
he  was  writing  on  those  topics  !  Pie  has  left  IMiilosophy, 
then,  and  struck  out  a  new  path  in  science  and  theology  ? " 

The  Go\ernor  became  intensel]'  interested  in  the  idea 
of  the  possible  development  or  rather  revelation  of  new 
truths,  and  of  a  new  departure  in  the  domains  of  science 
and  theology. 

"  He  has  struck  out  a  new  path  in  both.  Count. 
"  Bu'  it  is  not  so  much  the  new  as  the  rediscovery  of  the 
old  !  the  rejoining  of  the  broken  links  of  correspondence 
in  the  golden  chain  which  once  united  man  arid  nature 
with  the  spiritual  world." 

"  You  believe  in  it,  Kalm  !  You  were  always  taken  by 
that  Platonic  fancy  of  a  correspondence  as  of  soul  and 
body  between  things  of  earth  w'tii  the  Divine  ideas  in 
■which  they  originate  !  " 

"  Nay,  as  1  said,  I  know  not  what  to  believe  about  it  yet," 
replied  Kalm  ;  "  Swedenborg  is  the  soul  of  candor,  and  sin- 
cere as  he  is  pious,  humljle  and  enlightened.  He  told  me 
wonderful  things,  as  a  brother  and  a  pliilosopher  who  has 
been  permitted  to  look  at  creation  not  as  men  see  it  from 
without,  but  as  angels  may  be  sujjposed  to  regard  it  from 
within  outwards.  He  Jias  opened  the  flood-gates  of  an 
entire  new  philosophy  of  spirit  and  matter,  that  may  one 
day  co\er  all  our  present  systems,  as  the  waters  of  a 
fruitful  irrigation,  not  as  a  destroying  deluge,  however." 

"  Well  Kalm,  he  was  a  noble  youtJi,  and  if  he  has  gone 
mad  throui'ii  excess  of  wisdom,  few  men  have  had  the 
same  excuse  !  As  for  me  1  study  philosophy  in  visible 
forms,  a  stone,  a  plant,  a  drop  of  water,  a  living  organism 
of  whatever  kind.  The  three  kingdoms  of  nature  are  my 
book,  and  reason  is  its  commentary.  I  look  no  farther  ! 
Theology  I  love,  but  leave  that  to  its  divinel\'  appointed 
teacher,  Crcu/o  in  Sanc/ani  Excrlsiani  CatJiolicam .'  As  my 
fathers  before  me  believed,  I  also  hope  to  be  saved  in  that 
faith,  as  I  trust  it  has  saved  them."  I  seek  not  to  recon- 
cile religion  and  science  as  you  do,  Kalm  I " 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


423 


The  count,  as  he  said  this,  glanced  at  the  Bishop,  who 
looked  approvingly  at  him.  Bishop  Pontbriand  made 
small  allowance  for  the  aberrations  of  genius.  'I'he  path  of 
life  was  in  his  view  so  pla.n  that  a  wa\  farer,  though  a  fool, 
need  not  stumble  over  any  rocks  of  philosophy,  for  none 
were  to  be  found  in  it. 

"  No  wise  man,"  said  the  Bishop,  "  tries  to  judge  God  ! 
we  take  him  as  he  has  revealed  himself,  and  can  know 
with  certainly  no  fmlher.  We  cannot  judge  even  men 
justly,  let  alone  the  things  of  creation  which  are  left  to  be 
named  b\'  us  as  they  were  named  by  Adam,  who  gave 
all  things  their  names  just  as  he  understood  their  nature 
and  learned  their  qualities  ;  but  it  is  only  the  earthy,  not 
the  Divine  ideas  they  express  which  science  interprets." 

"  I  bow  with  deference  to  the  good  Bishop,"  remarked 
Kalm.  "We  differ  in  signs  and  tokens  only.  The  sea 
has  many  waves  ujjon  its  surface,  but  in  its  deptiis  it  is  all 
one  abiding  peace  and  utiiformity.  But  you  know,  Ijishop, 
that  in  Sweden  we  question  the  Sphinx  as  deeply  as  she 
questions  us.  We  take  nothing  for  granted  and  acknowl- 
edge noauthority  but  divine  truth  expounded  by  reason. 
We  ask  what  man  is  made  for  ?  Whence  he  comes  and 
wliither  he  goes  .'  We  lift  the  stones  of  science  one  by 
one ;  we  see  what  they  rest  upon  and  get,  if  we  can,  at  the 
very  foundations  of  things,  questioning  even  God  himself, 
whom  we  study  in  his  works  as  well  as  in  his  word." 

"But  our  old  fellow-student  at  Stockholm,"  replied 
the  Count,  "  is  he  establishing  a  new  faith,  a  new  religion, 
a  new  philosophy,  Kalm  ? 

"Far  from  it!  He  is  only  kneading  into  the  world's 
effete  beliefs  a  leaven  of  new  principles  which  will  in  time, 
in  a  century  or  two,  or  three,  perhaps,  bring  science  and 
theology  into  perfect  harmony  and  accord  with  each  other. 

"  What  would  Diderot  and  Voltaire  say  to  this.?"  re- 
marked the  Count  ;  "but  I  say  with  the  Athenians,  we  will 
hear  thee  again  on  this  matter,  Kalm." 

"  Hark  !  "  exclaimed  the  Bishop,  lifting  his  hand,  "  the 
Ansrelus  is  riniring  from  tower  and  belfrv,  and  thousands 
of  knees  are  bending  with  the  simplicity  of  little  children 
in  prayer  without  one  thougiit  of  theology  or  philosojjhy. 
Every  prayer  rising  from  a  sincere  heart,  asking  pardon 
for  the  past  and  grace  for  the  future,  is  heard  by  our  Father 
in  heaven,  think  you  not  it  is  so,  llcrr  Kalm  ?  " 


424 


THE  cm  EX  D'OR. 


I* 


■ii 


"  It  is  doubtless  so,  and  I  thank  God  it  is  so,  my  Lord 
Bishop,"  replied  the  j:)liilosopher.  "Salvation  is  by  the 
p;race  of  (rod,  a  truth  rarely  apprehended,  and  never 
eoniprehended  but  by  those  who  receive  it  like  little  chil- 
dren." 

"  May  we  receive  it  so  !"  replied  the  Bishop. 

A  few  nioniiMits  were  passed  by  the  gentlemen  at  table 
in  recitinjT  silently  the  customary  invocation  durinej  the 
rin_L!;ini^  of  the  An<j;elus.  Wiien  it  was  over,  the  company 
resettled  themselves  at  the  table,  the  cups  were  again  re- 
plenished. 

The  governor  was  warned  by  an  ill-suppressed  yawn 
from  Rig  uid  de  Vaudrcuii,  that  the  con\'ersation  on  his 
old  classmates  at  Upsal  had  been  void  of  interest  to  the 
old  soldier,  who  hated  philosophers  as  a  brood  of  scoffing 
skeptics,  who  were  ]:)ulling  down  religion  and  would  one 
day  pull  down  the  king  and  all  France  together. 

The  siK'cry  smoke  rose  again  in  thin  clouds  to  the 
ceiling,  and  the  conversation  shifted  to  other  topics,  by 
chance  in  appearance,  but  really  by  a  slight  and  unobserved 
artifice  of  the  Count,  who  kindly  led  it  to  a  subject  in  which 
Rigaud  would  shine. 

I'liere  is  some  topic  upon  which  every  one  is  able  to 
descant,  and  feel  his  strength.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  watch  a 
tacitinn  man  get  into  the  saddle  and  rattle  away  in  a  dust 
of  conversation  when  he  knows  the  road  and  has  no  fear 
of  a  dismount. 

Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil  was  taciturn  as  an  Indian,  but 
seated  in  his  war  saddle  he  let  the  world  see  he  could  ride 
and  also  talk.  His  friends  loved  him  for  his  honesty  and 
his  modestv.  NothiuLT  was  more  deliirhtful  than  to  draw  out 
kigaud  de  Vaudreuil  on  military  topics,  w^hich  few  could 
talk  better  about  than  he,  and  none  had  illustrated  by  braver 
deeds. 

He  grew  eloquent  to-night  telling  what  had  been  done 
by  the  king's  troops  and  loyal  Indians  in  defense  of  the 
colony,  and  what  remained  unaccomplished  through  the 
remissness  of  the  court  and  the  division  of  authority  in 
New  France,  where  the  Governor  controlled  the  campaign, 
the  Commander  in  Chief  led  the  armv,  and  the  Intendant 
held  the  sinews  of  war.  "The  king  expects  victories,'' 
said  he,  "  and  at  ten  prices  of  our  blood,  we  gain  them 
for  him  !     But  the  king's  courtiers,   the  king's  mistresses, 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


425 


and  all  the  crowd  of  sycophants  who  surround  the  throne, 
demand  hiwless  tribute  of  the  remnant  of  our  wealth.  New 
France  in  the  hands  of  IJigot  is  wrung  of  the  last  drop  of 
its  blood  and  the  last  doit  of  its  treasure.  The  pay  of  our 
soldiers  is  withheld,  as  in  Acadia,  where  our  victorious 
troops  had  to  pillage  their  own  countrymen  for  bread.  Was 
it  not  so,  La  Corne  ?  "  added  he,  turning  to  his  old  friend 
and  comrade. 

The  smoke  was  rising  thick  and  ominous  as  from  a  fur- 
nace above  the  head  of  La  Corne  St.  Luc.  He  took  his 
pipe  from  his  lips  and  snaj:)i)ing  it  in  two,  replied,  "  It  is 
too  true,  Rigaud  !  New  France  is  doomed  to  fall  like 
Acadia,  and  will  be  broken  like  that,  unless  a  new  fire  of 
patriotism  be  kindled  in  I'^rench  hearts  at  home  ;  unless  the 
nation  be  governed  by  statesmen  and  on  principles  of  honor 
and  duty,  not  by  trulls,  spendthrifts  and  jihilosophs  !  " 

"You  are  a  historian,  Herr  Kalm," continued  La  Corne, 
"1  want  vou  to  write  this  in  vour  book,  that  if  New  France 
be  ever  lost,  its  fail  will  be  due  neither  to  the  strength  of 
the  Fnglisli,  nor  to  the  want  of  patriotism  in  our  people, 
but  because  of  the  cowardice  of  wealth,  the  decav  of  lovaltv, 
the  loss  of  the  sentiment  of  national  pride  and  greatness 
in  the  mother  country.  If  I''rance  lose  her  empire  in 
America,  it  will  be  because  she  has  not  had  spirit  to  keep 
what  her  sons  so  bravely  won.  When  a  nation  once  prefers  its 
money  to  its  blood,  its  peace  to  its  honor,  its  doom  is  sealed  ! 
It  will  ere  long  have  neither  blood  nor  money  nor  honor  to 
offer  for  its  miserable  existence.  The  best  (jf  its  life  blood 
will  go  off  to  other  lands,  its  money  will  be  extorted  from 
it  in  tribute  to  nations  daring  enough  to  demand  it,  and. 
its  honor  will  be  sunk  forever  in  the  ocean  of  national 
degradation  !  " 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  in  these  few  words  reflected  the  sen- 
timents of  nearly  every  man  of  intelligence  in  the  colonw 
'i'hey  felt  themselves  half  abandoned  and  wholly  disregarded 
by  the  mother  country,  whose  policy  the  shrewilest  of  them 
began  to  see  was  influenced  by  the  anti  colonial  teachings 
of  Voltaire,  who  afterwards  kindled  bonlires  to  celebrate 
the  defeat  of  Montcalm  and  the  loss  of  her  greatest  colony. 

Strange  to  say,  after  the  lapse  of  more  than  a  century, 
a  race  of  Knglishmen  has  sprung  up  as  the  successors  of 
the  Fncycloj^edists  of  France,  who  argue  to  deaf  ears, 
let  us  hope,  that  wealth  is  the  only  greatness  of  a  nation, 


426 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


and  that  the  way  for  Enj^land  to  keep  great,  is  to  rid  her- 
self of  her  colonies,  to  alienate  millions  of  her  most  loyal 
subjects,  to  break  ii)3  the  mightiest  elements  of  national 
strength  by  dividing  her  empire  and  casting  the  fragments 
of  it  into  the  lap  of  her  enemies.  There  are  English  Vol- 
taires  and  Didcrots  who  believe  in  national  pusillanimity  and 
teach  it.  They  are  like  the  man  followed  by  wolves,  who 
cast  out  of  his  sledge  one  child  after  another,  in  hopes  of 
assuaging  the  hunger  of  his  pursuers,  and  saving  his  own 
ignoble  life  at  the  expense  of  every  feeling  of  duty  and 
manhood  to  his  children  ! 

Voltaire  and  the  philosophers  set  up  a  graven  image  of 
liberty  which  they  called  England,  which  true  in  itself  was 
false  in  their  conception  of  it,  and  degraded  by  the  factious 
use  they  made  of  their  ideal.  Just  so  these  English  suc- 
cessors of  V^ollaire  have  set  up  a  graven  image  which  they 
call  America,  and  grovel  at  its  feet  with  a  worship  half  of 
idolatrv,  half  of  fear,  but  wholly  degenerate  from  the  brave, 
independent  and  manly  spirit  of  tlie  English  nation. 

The  sad  foreboding  of  colonists  like  La  Corne  St.  Luc 
did  not  prevent  the  desperate  struggle  that  was  made  for 
the  preservation  of  French  doriiinion  in  the  next  war.  Like 
brave  and  loyal  men  they  did  their  duty  to  God  and  their 
country,  preferring  death  and  ruin  in  a  lost  cause  to  surren- 
dering the  Hag  which  was  the  symbol  of  their  native  land. 
The  spirit  if  not  the  words  of  the  old  English  loyalist  was 
in  them. 


,1 

I 

^i  ■ 


«f'  For  loyalty  is  still  the  same, 

Whether  it  win  or  lose  the  game. 
True  as  the  dial  to  tlie  sun, 

Although  it  be  not  shone  upon." 

New  France,  after  gathering  a  harvest  of  glory,  such  as 
America  had  never  seen  reaped  before,  fed  at  last,  through 
the  neglect  of  her  mother  country.  But  she  dragged  down 
the  nation  in  her  fall,  and  France  would  now  give  the 
apple  of  her  eye  for  the  recovery,  never  to  be,  of  "  the 
acres  of  snow,"  which  La  Pompadour  so  scornfully  aban- 
doned to  the  English. 

These  considerations  lay  in  the  lap  of  the  future,  how- 
ever ;  they  troubled  not  the  present  time  and  company. 
The  glasses  were  again  replenished  with  wine,  or  watered, 
as  the  case  might   be,  for  the  Count  de  la  Galissoniere 


OLYMPIC  err  A  RIOTS,  ETC. 


427 


and  Herr  Kalm  kept  Iloratian  time  and  measure,  drinking 
only  three  cups  to  tlie  Graces,  while  La  Corne  St.  Luc, 
and  Rigaud  de  Vaudreuil  drank  nine  full  cups  to  the  Muses, 
feaii ng  not  the  enemy  that  steals  away  men's  brains. 
Their  heads  were  helmeted  with  triple  brass,  and  impene- 
trable to  the  heaviest  blows  of  the  thyrsus  of  Bacchus. 
They  drank  with  impunity,  as  if  garlanded  with  parsley; 
and  while  commending  the  IJishop,  who  w^ould  drink 
naught  save  jjure  water,  they  rallied  gayly  Claude  lieau- 
harnois,  who  would  not  drink  at  all. 

In  the  midst  of  a  cheerful  concert  of  merriment,  the  door 
of  the  cabinet  opened,  and  the  servant  in  wailing  announced 
the  entrance  of  Colonel  Philibert. 

All  rose  to  welcome  him.  Pierre  looked  anxious  and 
somewhat  discomposed,  but  the  warm  grasp  of  the  hands 
of  so  many  true  friends  made  him  glad  for  the  moment. 

"  Why,  Pierre  !  "  exclaimed  the  C<Hnit,  "  I  hope  no  ill 
wind  has  blown  you  to  the  city  so  unexpectedly  !  You  are 
heartily  welcome,  however,  and  we  will  call  every  wind 
good  that  blows  our  friends  back  to  us  again." 

"  It  is  a  cursed  wind  that  blows  me  back  to-dav," 
replied  Philibert,  sitting  down  with  an  air  of  disquiet. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter,  Pierre  ?  "  asked  the  Count. 
"  My  honored  Lady  de  Tilly  and  her  lovely  niece,  are  they 
well .?  " 

"  Well,  vour  Excellencv,  but  sorelv  troubled.  The 
devil  has  tempted  Le  Gardeur  again,  and  he  has  fallen. 
He  is  back  to  the  city,  wild  as  a  savage  and  beyond  all 
control." 

*'  Good  God  !  it  will  break  his  sister's  heart  !  "  said  the 
Governor,  sympathizingly.  "That  girl  would  give  her  life 
for  her  brother.  I  feel  for  her  ;  I  feel  for  you,  too,  Pierre." 
Philibert  felt  the  tight  clasp  of  the  Governor's  hand  as  he 
said  this.  He  understood  well  its  meaning.  "  And  not 
less  do  I  pity  the  unhappy  youth  who  is  the  cause  of  such 
grief  to  his  friends,"  cor.tinued  he. 

"  Yes,  your  Excellency,  Le  Gardeur  is  to  be  pitied  as 
well  as  blamed.  He  has  been  tried  and  tempted  beyond 
human  strength. 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  had  risen,  and  was  pacing  the  floor 
with  impatient  strides.  '*  Pierre  Philii^ert !  "  exclaimed  he, 
*'  where  is  the  poor  lad  ?  He  must  be  sought  for  and  saved 
yet.     What  demons  have  assailed  him  now  ,''     Was  it  the 


428 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


serpent  ot  stronj:;  drink,  that  bites  men  mad,  or  the  lef^ion 
of  fiends  that  rattle  the  dice  box  in  their  ears?  Or  was  it 
the  hist  temptation — which  never  fails  when  all  else  has 
been  tried  in  vain — a  woman  ?" 

"It  was  all  three  coml)ined.  The  Chevalier  de  Pean 
visited  Tilly  on  business  of  the  Intendant,  in  reality,  I  sus- 
pect, to  open  a  coninuinication  with  Le  Gardeur,  for  he 
brought  him  a  message  from  a  lady,  you  wot  of,  which 
drove  him  wild  with  excitement.  A  hundred  men 
could  not  have  restrained  Le  Gardeur  after  that.  He 
became  infatuated  wi;h  De  Pean,  and  drank  and  gambled 
all  night  and  all  day  with  him  at  the  village  inn,  threaten- 
ng  anniiiilation  to  all  who  interfered  with  him.  To-day 
he  suddenly  left  Tilly,  and  has  come  with  De  Pean  to 
the  city." 

"  De  Pean  !  "  exclaimed  La  Corne,  "the  s]50tted  snake  ! 
A  fit  tool  for  the  Intendant's  lies  and  villainy  !  I  am  con- 
vinced he  went  not  on  his  own  errand  to  Tilly,  Bigot  is  at 
the  bottom  of  this  foul  conspiracy  to  ruin  the  noblest  lad 
in  the  colony. 

"  It  may  be,"  replied  Philibert,  "but  the  Intendant 
alone  would  have  had  no  |)ower  to  lure  him  back.  It  was 
the  message  of  that  artful  syren  which  has  drawn  Le 
Gardeur  de  Repentigny  again  into  the  whirlpool  of  de- 
struction." 

"Aye,  but  Pigot  set  her  on  him,  like  a  retriever,  to 
bring  back  the  game  !  "  replied  La  Corne,  fully  convinced  of 
the  truth  of  his  opinion. 

'  It  may  be,"  answered  Philibert  ;  "but  my  impression 
is  th;U  she  has  influenced  the  Intendant,  rather  than  he  her, 
in  this  matter," 

The  Dishop  listened  with  warm  interest  to  the  account 
of  Philibert.  He  looked  a  gentle  reproof,  but  did  not  utter 
it,  at  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  and  Philibert,  for  their  outspoken 
denunciation  of  the  Intendant.  He  knew — none  knew 
better — how  deserved  it  was  ;  but  his  ecch;siastical  rank 
placed  him  at  the  apex  of  all  parties  in  the  colony,  and 
taught  him  prudence  in  expressing  or  hearing  opinions  of 
the  King's  representatives  in  the  colony. 

"  But  what  have  you  d<me,  Pierre  Philibert?"  asked 
the  Bishop,  "  since  your  arrival  \  have  you  seen  Le  Gar- 
deur?" 

"  No,  my  Lord  ;  I  followed  him  and  the  Chevalier  to 


OLYMPIC  CHARIOTS,  ETC. 


429 


*> 


the  city  They  have  cjonc  to  the  Palace,  wliither  T  went, 
and  got  admittance  to  the  cabinet  of  the  Intendant.  He 
recei\'ed  me  in  his  poHlest  and  bhmdest  manner.  I  asked 
an  interview  with  Le  Gardeur.  l%ot  told  me  that  my 
friend  unfortnnately  at  that  moment  was  unfit  to  i)e  seen, 
and  had  refused  himself  to  all  his  city  friends.  I  partly 
believed  him,  for  1  heard  the  voice  of  Le  (iardeur  in  a 
distant  room,  amid  a  babble  of  tongues  and  the  rattle  of 
dice.  1  sent  him  a  card  with  a  few  kind  words,  and  re- 
ceived it  back  with  an  insult — deep  and  damning — scrawled 
upon  it.  It  was  not  written,  however,  in  the  hand  of  Le 
Gardeur,  although  signed  by  his  name.  Read  that,  your 
Excellency,"  said  he,  throwing  a  card  to  the  Count.  "  I 
will  not  repeat  the  foul  expressions  it  contains.  Tell  Pierre 
Philibert  what  he  should  do  to  save  his  honor  and  sa\e  his 
friend.  Poor,  wild,  infatuated  Le  Gardeur  never  wrote 
that — never!  Thev  have  made  him  sign  his  name  to  he 
knew  not  what." 

*' And,  by  St.  Martin!"  exclaimed  La  Corne,  who 
looked  at  the  card,  '*  some  of  them  shall  bite  dust  for  that  ! 
As  for  Le  Gardeur,  poor  boy,  overlook  his  fault — pity  him, 
forgive  him.  He  is  not  so  much  to  blame,  Pierre,  as  those 
plundering  thieves  of  the  Friponne,  who  shall  find  that  La 
Corne  St.  Luc's  sword  is  longer  bv  half  an  ell  than  is  good 
for  some  of  their  stomachs  1  " 

*'  Forbear,  dear  friends,"  said  the  Pishop.  "  It  is  not 
the  way  of  Christians  to  talk  thus." 

"  But  it  is  the  way  of  gentlemen  !  "  replied  La  Corne, 
impatiently,  "  and  I  always  hold  that  a  true  gentleman  is  a 
true  Christian.  Put  you  do  your  duty,  my  Lord  Pishop,  in 
reproving  us,  and  1  honor  you  for  it,  although  I  may  not 
promise  obedience.  David  fought  a  duel  with  Goliah,  and 
was  honored  by  God  and  man  for  it,  was  he  not .''  " 

"  Put  he  fought  it  not  in  his  own  quarrel,  La  Corne," 
replied  the  Pishop  gently,  "-Goliah  had  defied  the  armies 
of  the  living  God  and  David  fought  for  his  king,  not  for 
himself." 

'■'■  Confitcor  !  my  lord  Pishop,  but  the  logic  of  the  heart 
is  often  truer  than  the  logic  of  the  head,  and  the  sword 
has  no  raison  Wctre^  except  in  purging  the  world  of 
scoundrels." 

"  I  will  go  home  now,  I  will  see  your  Excellency  again 
on  this  matter,"  said  Pierre,  rising  to  depart. 


430 


THE  CHFEN  D'OR. 


"  Do,  Pierre  !  my  utmost  services  are  at  your  com- 
mand," said  the  Governor,  as  the  guests  all  rose  loo.  It  was 
very  late. 

The  hour  of  departure  had  arrived,  the  company  all 
rose  and,  courteously  biddinf^  their  host  .good  night,  pro- 
ceeded to  tlieir  several  homes,  leaving  him  alone  with  his 
friend  Kalm. 

They  two  at  once  passed  into  a  little  museum  of 
minerals,  plants,  birds  and  animals,  where  they  sat  down, 
eager  as  two  boy  students.  Tiie  world,  its  battles  and  its 
politics  v.ere  utterly  forgotten,  as  they  conversed  far  into 
the  night  and  examined  with  the  deligiit  of  new  discoverers, 
the  beauty  and  varietv  of  nature's  forms  that  exist  in  the 
New  World. 


CHAPTER  XL. 


THE  COUTUME  DE  PARIS. 


The  Chevalier  De  Pean  had  been  but  too  successful 
in  his  errand  of  mischief  to  the  Manor  House  of  Tilly. 

A  few  days  had  sufficed  for  this  accomplished 
ambassador  of  Bigot  to  tempt  Le  Gardeur  to  his  ruin,  and 
to  triumph  in  his  fall. 

Upon  his  arrival  at  the  Seigneurie,  De  Pean  had  chosen 
to  take  up  his  quarters  at  the  village  inn,  in  preference  to 
accepting  the  proffered  hospitality  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly, 
whom  however  he  had  frequently  to  see,  having  been 
craftily  commissioned  by  Bigot  with  the  settlement  of 
some  important  matters  of  business  relating  to  her 
Seigneurie,  as  a  pretext  to  visit  the  Manor  House  and  linger 
in  the  village  long  enough  to  renew  his  old  familiarity 
with  Le  Gardeur. 

The  visits  of  De  Pean  to  the  Manor  House  were  politely 
but  not  cordially  received.  It  was  only  by  reason  of  the 
business  he  came  upon  that  he  was  received  at  all.  Never- 
theless he  paid  his  court  to  the  ladies  of  the  manor,  as  a 
gentleman  anxious  to  remove  their  prejudices  and  win 
their  good  opinion. 

He  once  and  but  once,  essayed  to  approach  Amdie 


THE  COUTUME  DE  PARIS. 


431 


with  galKiiitry,  a  hair  brcacUh  only  beyond  the  rigid 
boundary  line  of  ordinary  politeness,  when  he  received  a 
repulse  so  quick,  so  unspoken  and  invisible  that  he 
could  not  tell  in  what  it  consisted,  vet  he  felt  it  like  a  sud- 
den  paralysis  of  iiis  powers  of  pleasing.  He  cared  not 
again  to  encounter  the  quick  glance  of  contenqjt  and 
aversion,  which  for  an  instant  flashed  in  the  eves  of 
Anielie,  when  she  caught  the  drift  of  Iiis  untimely  admira- 
tion. 

A  woman  is  never  so  Rhadainanthean  in  her  justice, 
and  so  quick  in  her  execution  of  it,  as  when  she  is  proud 
and  happy  in  her  love  for  another  man.  She  is  then 
indignant  at  every  suggestion  implying  any  doubt  of  the 
strength,  purity,  and  absoluteness  of  her  devotion. 

De  Pean  ground  his  teeth  in  silent  wrath  at  this  quiet 
but  unequivocal  repulse,  and  vowed  a  bitter  vow  that 
Amelie  should  ere  long  repent  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  for 
the  wound  inHicied  upon  his  vanity  and  still  more  upon 
his  cupidity. 

One  of  the  day  dreams  of  his  fancy  was  broken  never 
to  return.  The  immense  foriune  and  high  rank  of  the 
young  Chatelaine  de  Repentigny  had  excited  the  cupidity 
of  De  Pean  for  some  time,  and  although  the  voluptuous 
beauty  of  Angel ique  fastened  his  eyes,  he  would  willingly 
have  sacrificed  her  tor  the  reversion  of  the  lordships  of 
IMUy  and  Rejientigny. 

De  Pean's  soul  was  too  small  to  bear  with  equanimity 
the  annihilation  of  his  cherished  hopes.  As  he  looked 
down  upon  his  white  hands,  his  delicate  feet  and  irre- 
proachable dress  and  manner,  he  seemed  not  to  compre- 
hend that  a  true  woman  like  Amelie  cares  nothing  for 
these  things  in  comparison  with  a  manly  nature  that  seeks 
a  woman  for  her  own  sake  by  love,  and  in  love,  and  not 
by  the  accessories  of  wealth  and  position,  Fc  such  a  one 
she  would  go  barefoot  if  need  were,  while  golden  slippers 
would  not  tempt  her  to  walk  with  the  other. 

Amelie's  beau  ideal  of  manhood  was  embodied  in 
Pierre  Philibert,  and  the  greatest  king  in  Christendom 
would  ha\'e  wooed  in  vain  at  her  feet,  much  less  an  empty 
pretender  like  the  Chevalier  de  Pean. 

"  I  would  not  have  treated  anv  gentleman  so  rudely," 
said  Amelie,  in  confidence  to  Heloise  de  Lotbiniere,  when 
they  had  retired  to  the  privacy  of  their  bed-chamber.  "  No 


"T 


432 


TY/A'  cm  EX  D'OR. 


woman  is  justified  in  sliowincj  scorn  of  any  man's  love,  if 
it  1)L'  honest  and  true;  but  the  Chevalier  de  Pean  is  false  to 
the  heart's  core,  and  his  presumption  woke  such  an 
aversion  in  my  heart,  (hat  f  fear  my  eyes  showed  less 
than  ordinary  politeness  to  his  unexpected  advances." 

"  You  were  too  gentle,  not  too  h  irsh,  Amelie,"  replied 
Heloise,  with  her  arm  round  her  friend.  ''  Had  I  been 
the  object  of  his  hateful  addresses  I  should  have  re|>nid  him 
in  his  own  false  coin.  1  would  have  led  him  on  to  the 
brink  of  the  precipice  of  a  confession  and  an  offer,  and 
then  I  would  have  dropped  him  as  one  drops  a  stone  into 
the  deep  pool  of  the  C.'haudiere." 

'•  V'ou  were  always  more  '  )ld  than  I,  Heloise,  I  could 
not  do  that  for  the  world,"  replied  Amelie.  "  1  would  not 
williuLrlv  offend  even  the  Chevalier  de  Pean.  Moreover  I 
fear  him,  and  I  need  not  tell  you  why,  darling.  That  man 
posesses  a  power  over  my  dear  brother  that  makes  me 
trend^le,  and  in  my  anxiety  f(jr  Le  Gardeur,  I  n)ay  have 
lingered,  as  1  did  yesterday,  too  long  in  the  parlor  when 
in  company  with  the  Chevalier  de  Pean,  who  mistaking  my 
motive,  may  have  sup])osed  that  1  hated  not  his  presence 
so  much  as  I  truly  did  !  " 

*'  Amelie,  your  fears  are  my  own  !  "  exclaimed  Heloise, 
pressing  Amelie  to  her  side.  "  I  must,  I  will  tell  you!  O 
loved  sister  of  mine  !  let  me  call  you  so  !  To  you  alone,  I 
dare  acknowledge  my  hopeless  love  for  Le  Gardeur,  and 
my  deep  and  abiding  interest  in  his  welfare." 

"Nay,  do  not  say  hopeless,  iieloise  !  "  replied  Amelie, 
kissing  her  fondly.  "  Le  Gardeur  is  not  insensible  to  your 
beauty  and  goodness.  He  is  too  like  myself  not  to  love 
you." 

"Alas!  Amelie!  I  know  it  is  all  in  vain.  I  have 
neidier  beauty  nor  other  attractions  in  his  eyes.  He 
left  me  yesterday  to  converse  with  the  Chevalier  de  Pean 
on  the  subject  of  Angelique  des  Meloises,  and  I  saw  by 
the  agitation  of  his  manner,  the  flush  upon  his  cheek,  and 
the  eagerness  of  his  questioning,  that  he  cared  more  for 
Ang(flique,  notwithstanding  her  reported  engagement  with 
the  Intendant,  than  he  did  for  a  thousand  Heloises  de 
Lotbinieres  ! " 

The  poor  girl,  overpowered  by  the  recollection,  hid  her 
face  upon  the  shoulder  of  Amelie,  and  sobbed  as  if  her 
very  heart  were  breaking  ;  as  in  truth  it  was. 


THE  COUTUME  DE  PARIS. 


433 


Amelie,  so  happy  and  secure  in  her  own  affeclion, 
comforted  Hcloise  with  lier  (ears  and  caresses,  but  it  was 
only  i)y  i)icliiiin;^  in  her  iniajj;inaiion,  her  own  stale,  should 
she  be  so  hapless  as  to  lose  the  love  of  Pierre  Philibcrt, 
that  she  could  realize  the  depth  of  misery  and  abandon- 
ment which  filled  the  bosom  of  her  fair  companion. 

She  was  moreover  struck  to  the  heart  by  the  words  of 
Heloise,  re;;arding  the  eagerness  of  her  brother  to  get 
word  of  Angelique.  "  The  Chevalier  de  Pean  might  have 
brought  a  message,  perhaps  a  love  token  from  Angel icjue 
to  Le  (lardeur,  to  draw  him  back  to  the  city,"  thought  she. 
If  so,  she  felt  instinctively  that  all  their  efforts  to  redeem 
him  would  be  in  vain,  and  that  neither  sister's  love,  nor 
Pierre's  remonstrances  would  avail  to  prevent  his  return. 
He  was  the  slave  of  the  lamp,  and  Angelique  its  posses- 
sor. 

"Heaven  forbid!  Heloise,"  she  said  faintly,  "  Le 
Gardeur  is  lost  if  he  return  to  the  city  now  !  Twice  lost  ! 
lost  as  a  gentleman,  lost  as  the  lover  of  a  woman  who 
cares  for  him  only  as  a  pastime,  and  as  a  foil  to  her 
ambitious  designs  upon  the  Intendant!  Poor  Le  (jarrLuti 
what  happiness  might  not  be  his,  in  the  love  of  a  woman, 
noble  minded  as  himself !  What  happiness  were  he  yours, 
O  darling  Heloise  !  "  She  kissed  her  pallid  cheeks,  wet 
with  tears,  which  lay  by  hers  on  the  same  pillow,  and  l)oth 
remained  silently  brooding  over  the  thoughts  which  spring 
from  love  and  sorrow. 

'  Happiness  can  never  be  mine,  Amt^lie,"  said  Heloise, 
after  a  lapse  of  several  minutes.  "  I  have  long  feared  it, 
now  I  know  it.  Le  Gardeur  loves  Angelique  ;  he  is  wholly 
hers  and  not  one  little  corner  of  his  heart  is  left  for  poor 
Heloise  to  nestle  in  !  I  did  not  ask  much,  Amelie,  but  I 
have  not  retained  the  little  interest  I  believed  was  once 
mine  !  He  has  thrown  the  whole  treasure  of  his  life  at  her 
feet.  After  playing  with  i't,  she  will  spurn  it  for  a  more 
ambitious  alliance  !  O  !  Amelie  !  "  exclaimed  she  with 
vivacity,  "  I  could  be  wicked  !  Heaven  forgive  me !  I  could 
be  cruel  and  without  pity,  to  save  Le  Gardeur  from  the 
wiles  of  such  a  woman  !  " 

The  night  was  a  stormy  one,  the  east  wind  which  had 
lain  in  a  dead  lull  through  the  early  hours  of  the  evening 
rose  in  all  its  strength  at  the  turn  of  the  tide.  It  came 
bounding  like  the  distant  thud  of  a  cannon.     It  roared  and 

28 


434 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


rattled  against  the  windows  and  casements  of  the  Manor 
House,  sounding  a  dccj)  bass  in  the  long  chinmi^ys 
and  howling  like  sends  in  torment,  amid  the  ilistant 
woods. 

The  rain  swept  down  in  torrents  as  if  the  windows  of 
heaven  were  opcnctl  to  wash  away  the  world's  defilements. 
The  stout  walls  of  the  Manor  Mouse  were  innnovable  as 
rocks,  hut  the  wind  and  the  rain  and  the  noise  of  the  storm 
Struck  an -awe  into  the  two  girls.  They  crept  closer  together 
in  their  bed  ;  they  dared  not  separate  for  the  night.  'I'he 
storm  seemed  tof)  much  the  reflex  of  the  agitation  of  their 
own  minds,  and  they  lay  clasped  in  each  others  arms 
niini;ling  their  tears  and  prayers  for  Le  Gardeur  until  the 
gray  dawn  looked  over  the  eastern  hill  and  they  slept. 

The  Chevalier  de  Fean  was  fdilhful  to  the  mission 
upon  which  he  had  been  dispatched  to  Tilly.  He  disliked 
intensely  the  return  of  Le  (iardeur  to  renew  his  old  ties 
with  Angc'lique.  JUit  it  was  his  fate,  his  cursed  crook,  he 
called  it,  ever  to  be  o\erborne  by  some  woman  or  other, 
and  he  resolved  that  Le  (iardeur  should  pay  for  it  with  his 
money  and  be  so  flooded  by  wine  and  del)auchery  that 
Angel ique  herself  would  repent  that  she  had  ever  invited 
his  return. 

That  she  would  not  marry  Le  Gardeur  was  plrin  enough 
to  De  Pean  who  knew  her  ambitious  views  retrardin<i  the 
Intendant,  and  that  the  Intendant  would  not  marry  her 
was  equally  a  certainty  to  him,  although  i(  did  not  prevent 
De  Pean's  entertaining  an  intense  jealousy  of  P)igot. 

Despite  discouraging  prospects,  he  found  a  consolation 
in  the  reflection  that  failing  his  own  vain  efforts  to  please 
Amelie  de  Repentigny  for  sake  of  her  wealth  ;  the  woman 
he  most  loved  for  sake  of  her  beauty  and  spirit,  would  yet 
drop  like  a  golden  fleece  into  his  arms,  either  through 
spite  at  her  false  lover  or  through  love  of  himself.  De 
Pean  cared  little  which,  for  it  was  the  person  not  the  in- 
clination of  Ange'lique,  that  carried  away  captive  the  ad- 
miration of  the  Chevalier  De  Pean. 

The  better  to  accomplish  his  crafty  design  of  abducting 
Le  Gardeur,  De  Pean  had  taken  up  his  lodging  at  tl  e 
village  inn.  He  knew  that  in  the  polite  hospitalities  of 
the  Manor  House  he  could  find  few  opportunities  to  work 
upon  the  susceptible  nature  of  Le  Gardeur,  that  too  many 
loving  eyes  would  there  watch  over  his  safety,  and  that  he 


THE  COUrUME  DE  PARIS. 


435 


was  himself  suspected  and  his  pri'sence  only  tolerated  on 
account  of  the  hushiess  which  had  ostensiblv  brouirht  him 
there.  At  tiie  inn,  he  would  he  free  to  work  out  his 
schemes  sure  ot  success,  if  by  any  means  and  on  any  pre- 
tense he  could  draw  Lc  Gardeur  thither,  and  rouse  into 
life  and  fury  the  sleeping;  serpents  of  his  old  propensities, 
the  love  of  ganiiui^,  the  love  of  wine,  and  the  love  of 
An^i;eli(|ue. 

Could  Le  Gardeur  be  persuaded  to  drink  a  full  measure 
to  the  brii^ht  eyes  of  An^j^eiiciue  dcs  Meloiscs,  and  could  he 
when  the  tire  was  kindled  be  tempted  once  more  to  take 
in  hand  the  box  more  fatal  than  that  of  Pandora,  and  place 
fortune  on  the  turn  of  a  die,  De  I'ean  knew  well  that  no 
power  on  earth  could  stop  the  conlla^ralion  of  every  <;ood 
resolution  aiul  every  virtuous  piinciple  in  his  mind.  Neither 
Aunt,  nor  Sister,  nor  I'riends,  could  withhold  him  then  ! 
He  would  return  to  the  city,  where  the  Grand  Company  had 
a  use  to  make  of  him,  which  he  would  never  understand 
until  it  was  too  late  for  auLijht  but  re|-)entance. 

De  Pean  i)()ndered  lou:^  upon  a  few  words  he  had  one 
day  heard  drop  from  the  lips  of  Hi^ot,  which  meant  more — 
much  more  than  they  seemed  to  imply,  and  they  flitted 
lon^  throuirh  his  memory  like  bats  in  a  room  seekiiii;  an 
outlet  into  the  niujht  ominous  of  some  deed  of  darkness. 

De  Pean  imaij;ined  that  he  had  found  a  way  to  revenj^e 
himself  upon  Le  Gardeur  and  Amelie — each  for  thwarting 
him  in  a  scheme  of  love  or  fortune.  He  brooded  long  and 
malignantly  how  to  hatch  the  plot  which  he  fai^cied  was 
his  own,  but  which  had  really  been  conceived  in  the  deeper 
brain  of  Bigot,  whose  few  seemingly  harmless  words  had 
dropped  into  the  ear  of  De  Pean,  casually  as  it  were,  but, 
which  Pigot  knew  would  take  root  and  <irow  in  the  con- 
genial  soul  of  his  secretary  and  one  day  bring  forth  terri- 
ble fruit. 

The  next  day  was  wet  and  autumnal,  with  a  sweeping 
east  wind  which  blew  raw  and  gustily  over  the  dark  grass 
and  drooping  trees  that  edged  the  muddy  lane  of  the  vil- 
lage of  Tilly. 

The  water  courses  were  full  and  yellow  with  the  wash- 
ing of  frequent  showers.  The  sky  was  dark — the  heavily 
laden  clouds  scarcely  rose  above  the  level  of  the  horizon. 
They  trailed  their  ragged  skirts  of  mist  over  the  tree  tops 
and  hill-sides — while   the  river  hardly  visible   in   the  fog 


iW 


if    1 


436 


J'/IE  CiriEiV  D'OR. 


\ 


mingled  a  hoarse  roar  of  waves  from  its  stony  beach,  with 
the  continuous  noise  of  the  wind  and  the  rain  on  shore. 

The  grey  church  upon  the  point  of  Tilly  was  shrouded 
in  still  greyer  mist.  The  sound  of  the  vesper  bell  rung  by 
the  lonely  Sexton  was  scarcely  heard  in  the  village,  and 
few  obeyed  its  summons  that  day ;  preferring  a  penance  for 
not  going  to  Church  to  the  risk  of  a  wet  skin  and  drabbled 
garments.  It  was  not  easy  in  such  weather  '.^  ascend  the 
miry  road  up  the  steep  hill  worthy  to  be  called  the  hill 
Difficulty  which  led  from  the  low  lying  village  to  the  Parish 
Church. 

The  few  houses  in  the  village  were  very  quiet,  all  the 
little  world  of  life  had  taken  refuge  indoors,  or  under 
cover.  The  steaming  cattle  shivered  together  under  sheds 
and  in  fence  corners.  The  strutting  poultry  had  long 
since  drooped  their  wet  feathers  and  perched  disconsolate 
enough  in  barn  and  stable.  Even  the  lately  clamorous 
ducks  and  geese  seemed  to  have  had  enough  of  it,  and 
stood  in  one-legged  quiet  contemplation  of  the  little  pools 
of  water  foaming  and  bubbling  about  them,  which  would 
be  pools  of  delight  to  tliem  for  mar  y  a  day  to  come. 

The  figure  of  a  woman  with  a  shawl  or  cloak  thrown 
hastily  over  her  head,  tripping  lightly  through  the  mud  as 
she  hurried  to  or  froiu  a  neighbor's  house,  was  the  only 
sign  of  inhabitants  about  the  village,  except  at  the  old- 
fashioned  inn,  with  its  low  covered  gallery  and  swinging 
siiin  of  the  Tillv  Arms. 

There  flitting  round  the  door,  or  occasionally  peering 
through  the  windows  of  the  tap  room  with  i)ipes  in  their 
mouths  and  perchance  a  tankard  in  their  hands,  were  seen 
the  elders  of  the  village,  boatmen,  and  hahitans,  making 
use  or  good  excuse  of  a  rainy  day  for  a  social  gathering  iti 
the  drv  snug  chimnev  corner  of  the  Tillv  Arms. 

In  the  warmest  corner  of  all,  his  face  aglow  with  fire — • 
light  and  good  li(|uor,  sat  Master  Tothier  dit  Robin,  with 
his  gown  tucked  up  to  his  waist  as  he  toasted  his  legs  and 
old  gamashes  in  the  genial  warmth  of  a  bright  tire. 

Opposite  him  bursting  with  stories  of  the  late  riot  in 
the  city,  and  of  the  destruction  of  his  fiddle  by  the  Intend- 
ant,  sat  Jean  La  Marche,  nursing  a  new  \iolin  on  his  lap 
tenderly  as  a  ten  days'  old  baby,  and  taking  the  word  out 
of  every  body's  mouth  as  was  his  custom,  in  his  good- 
nalured  eagerness  to  have  his  say,  whoever  was  speaking. 


'^HE  COUTUME  DE  PARIS. 


437 


A  feat  rather  difficult  to-ni;;ht,  for  Master  Pothier  was 
tremendous  on  a  stiini^  of  talk.  Hi.i  law  phrases  and  dojj; 
Latin  overrode  the  voluble  recitals  of  Jean,  who  had 
his  reven;;e,  however,  for  when  fairly  out-talked  and  hard 
pressed  by  argument,  he  would  take  out  his  violin  and, 
striking  up  a  lively  air,  bring  all  the  listeners  to  his  side  and 
force  Master  Pothier  to  a  new  trial. 

Half  a  dozen  worthies  of  the  village  in  red  Breton  caps 
were  at  once  audience  and  chorus  to  Master  Pothier  and 
Jean  La  Marche  ;  they  were  all  censitaires  of  the  house  of 
Tilly,  proud  of  their  lady,  cheerful  payers  of  her  feudal 
dues,  and  equal!}'  fond  of  disputing  them  point  by  point,  for 
the  sake  of  a  good  wrangle,  with  their  Lady's  steward,  the 
grave  and  consequential  Master  Cote. 

The  arrival  of  Master  Pothier  in  the  course  of  his 
rounds  as  a  travelling  Notary,  was  an  event  quite  as  in- 
teresting to  the  men,  as  the  arrival  of  the  cheerful  old 
Recollets  was  to  the  women  of  the  village  of  Tillv. 

Master  Pothier  with  his  budget  of  law  papers,  had  hardly 
installed  himself  in  his  old  scat  in  the  chimney  corner,  be- 
fore the  news  of  his  arrival  was  flying  round  the  seigneurie, 
and  a  dozen  of  would-be  litigants,  were  drawing  themselves 
up  an  inch  taller,  in  the  prospect  of  a  good  bout  at  cheap 
law  with  neighbors  as  fond  of  it  as  themselves. 

A  year's  accumulation  of  petty  quarrels  and  verbal 
contracts,  waiting  to  be  put  in  black  and  white  as  they 
expressed  it,  were  ready  for  the  mani]3ulation  of  Master 
Pothier,  Sick  men  had  deferred  dying  until  the  travelling 
Notary  came  round  to  draw  their  wills.  Impatient  couples 
were  not  allowed  by  prudent  parents  to  marry,  no  matter 
how  high  the  torch  of  Cupid  was  flaring,  until  a  proper  con- 
tract on  thick  paper,  with  a  good  blotch  of  sealing  wax 
upon  it,  had  been  duly  executed  under  the  notarial  hand 
of  Master  Pothier. 

The  old  Notary  knew  well  how  to  extract  his  fees  from 
the  close-fisted  habitans,  notwithstanding  their  inveterate 
habit  of  driving  hard  bargains  for  their  law  as  for  any  other 
commodity  they  needed. 

"  How  much.  Master  Pothier,  will  you  charge  me  for 
scribbling  off  an  ade  de  (/amnation  /  "  asked  Louis  Du 
Sol.  He  meant  to  say  an  acte  dc  donation,  of,  "  a  reason- 
able pig,  in  return  for  the  use  of  a  little  field  down  by  the 
mill."     Master  Pothier  understood  him  all  the  same,  and 


T 


«« 


438 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


probably  thought  there  was  usually  not  much  difference  in 
either  the  thing  or  the  name. 

"With  a  seal  upon  it,  Master  Louis?"  asked  Master 
Pothier  with  a  very  judicial  air. 

'*  Yes,  Master  Pothier,  with  a  seal  upon  it,  all  complete." 

Master  Pothier  rubbed  his  wig  for  aminute,  very  grave- 
ly. "  It  will  cost  you  five  livres  to  make  a  tight  and  sure 
acte  de  damnation,^''  said  he.  "  A  middling  one  with  not 
more  than  two  or  three  holes  to  creep  out  at,  will  cost  you 
three  livres,  a  very  common  one  that  will  hold  nothing  and 
nobody,  I  will  give  you  for  a  franc.  So  you  take  your 
choice.  Master  Louis  !  "  The  habitant  thought  the  cheap 
and  common  one  good  enough  to  give  away.  At  any  rate, 
it  left  his  hands  as  free  as  the  other  party's  to  the  contract, 
to  raise  a  glorious  cavil,  and  so  lead  to  the  luxury  of  a  law- 
suit over  the  acte  de  damnation. 

Conversation  in  the  presence  of  Master  Pothier,  ever 
took  a  litigious  turn.  His  wallet  smelled  of  law  as  natu- 
rallv  as  a  Doctor's  smells  of  dru":s. 

The  censitaires  of  Tilly  were  happy  in  their  feudal  re- 
lations with  the  noble  Lady  of  the  Manor,  but  true  Nor- 
mans as  they  were,  they  loved  to  exercise  tlieir  wits  upon 
quibbles,  and  points  of  the  coutumcs  of  I'aris  and  Rouen, 
which  applied  to  their  land  tenures  and  other  dealings  with 
their  Lady. 

They  admitted  cheerfully  their  obligations  to  pay  cens 
and  rentes,  some  five  farthings  per  arpent,  for  lands  in  the 
Lordship  of  Till}-,  which  the  Lady  of  the  Manor  had  as 
regularly  returned  to  them,  for  several  years  past,  on  ac- 
count of  the  hard  times  in  the  colony  ;  but  that  did  not 
pre\cMt  their  envying  the  lot  of  the  happier  censitaires  of 
Brille,  who,  annually  on  their  rent  day,  went  in  procession 
to  the  chateau  of  their  Lord,  with  their  largest  wagon 
drawn  by  six  horses  superbly  harnessed,  conveying  one 
pepper  corn  to  their  Lord  as  the  full  rent  due  for  their 
lands,  and  who  had  to  treat  his  loyal  vassals  with  a  great 
feast  into  the  bargain  !  " 

The  banality  of  the  old  mill  of  Tilly  which  ground  the 
corn  of  the  Seigneurie  for  nothing,  except  a  few  handfuls 
out  of  each  Alinot,  given  as  toll  to  the  miller,  was  a  stand- 
ing subject  of  controversy  among  the  sharp  wits  of  the 
village,  as  to  whether  the  handfuls  were  single  as  some 
argued,  or  double  as  claimed  by  old  Joachim  the  miller. 


THE  COUTUME  DE  PARIS, 


439 


The  Lady  of  the  Manor  kept  down  her  stock  of  doves 
in  the  great  colombiere.  feeding  them  carefully  at  home  to 
prevent  their  flying  abroad  to  pick  in  the  cornlields  of  the 
habitiins,  but  the  number  she  might  keep  and  the  number 
her  censitaires  m'r^ht  be  required  to  feed,  formed  a  problem 
in  feudal  arithmetic,  that  often  filled  the  table  top,  and  the 
inn  door  itself,  with  chalk  marks  of  interminable  calcula- 
tions equalled  at  last  by  the  landlord's  score  of  mugs  of 
cider  drank  to  the  health  of  the  good  Lady  of  the  Manor, 
while  they  were  disputing  her  rights. 

"  My  Lady  may,  by  the  coutumc  of  Rouen  !  "  exclaimed 
Master  Pothier,  "  build  a  colombiere  that  will  feed  all  the 
Seigneury  as  well  as  eat  it  up.  It  is  her  right,  and  as  our 
good  Lady,  she  may  exercise  it  if  she  will." 

"  You  may  as  well  tell  me  Master  l*othier !  "  replied 
Jean  La  Marche  as  the  defender  of  popular  rights,  "  that 
the  Droit  de  Graiouillage  is  in  the  ALmor  of  Tilly  as  it  is 
in  the  Lordship  of  Marais  Le  Grand." 

"  I  do  tell  you  so,  Jean  La  Marche  !  "  replied  Master 
Pothier.  "  It  is  inherent  in  all  Norman  fiefs  !  only  there  are 
no  frog  ponds  at  Tilly,  else  would  the  vassals  be  bound  to 
beat  them  with  long  poles  all  the  night  preceding  the 
marriage  of  their  Lord,  crying ; 


*Pa!  Pa!  rainottc,  Pa! 
Notre  Seigneur  clort,  que  Dieu  ga  ! ' 

to  enable  their  Lord  to  sleep  soundly,  and  be  strong  and 
vigorous  for  the  morrow." 

"  Aye,  that  is  a  sensible  custom  !  onp  can  sympathize 
with  that !  "  replied  Jean.  "  Were  you  ever  married,  Master 
Pothier?" 

"  I  married  ?  Jean  La  Marche  !  "  Master  Pothier  gave 
a  scornful  laugh.  "  Ha,  Ha  !  The  idea  !  No,  no  !  I 
know  too  much  law  for  that  !  What .'  When  there  is  not 
a  seigneur  in  New  France,  but  has  the  right  of  Jnmhai^e 
inherent  in  his  Lordship  by  the  ancient  couttimcs  of  Nor- 
mandy, and  for  aught  I  could  plead  in  bar  would  exercise 
it  in  case  Master  Pothier  took  a  wife  !  No,  Jean  La 
Marche  !  you  may  marry  and  I  shall  be  happy  to  write 
you  a  marriage  contract  as  broad  as  your  wedding  sheet, 
but  do  not  ask  me  to  adorn  my  brows  with  even  invisible 
antlers  !  " 


440 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


"  Aye,  but  they  say  our  Seigneurs  have  lost  the  right 
of  jainbage.  More  the  pity,  say  our  penniless  maids,  who 
never  married  without  a  nice  dower  in  the  good  old  times," 
replied  Jean,  looking  round  the  company  for  support  in 
his  regret, 

"  Bah  !  "  exclaimed  Nicholas  Houdin,  a  staring  habi- 
tant. "  I  iiave  lived  in  Tilly  three-score  years,  and  1  never 
heard  that  our  noble  Seigneurs  had  the  right  of  jambage.'^ 

"  It  was  ihiijyossibi/ities  of  the  law,  Master  Houdin  1  " 
replied  Pothicr, — "  not  its  actuality — I  referred  to." 

Nicholas  Houdin,  not  comprehending  the  law  Latin,  as 
he  legarded  the  reply  of  Master  Polhier,  said,  "  Oh,  yes  1" 
and  resumed  his  stare  of  wonder  at  the  vast  learning  of 
the  worthy  notary. 

"Well,  we  need  not  mind  :ibo\.\t.  Jatnlmgc  in  Tilly,  where 
we  are  ruled  by  a  lady,  and  not  by  a  lord  !  I  drink  her 
health  before  all  the  company,"  exclaimed  Jean  La 
Marche,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  and  the  word  to 
the  action,  as  well  as  if  he  had  received  advice  from 
Hamlet. 

"  I  join  in  the  health  of  our  noble  lady,  with  all  my 
heart!"  replied  Master  Pothier  ;  "  but  you  do  not  catch 
me  with  that  hook,  Jean  La  Marche  !  A  lady  may  depute 
her  right  oijat/ibage  to  her  heir  in  the  barony,  as  is  proved 
by  Arrets  in  the  Court  of  Bourges.  Respect  the  laW;  there- 
fore, Jean  La  Marche." 

"  I  do.  Master  Pothier!  and  I  want  some  of  it  for  my- 
self. You  know  my  poor  Fitine  took  a  cold  and  died  last 
winter.  She  has  left  a  buxom  sister  in  the  flesh,  whom  I 
wish  to  marry.  The  Cure  says  :  '  No  ! '  Tlie  woman  says  : 
'  Oh  ! '  Now  what  says  the  law  ?  Is  it  permissible  to  marry 
your  wife's  sister  ?  " 

Master  Pothier  pricked  up  his  ears  like  a  war-horse  at 
the  sound  of  a  trumpets  Here  was  a  case  to  come  down 
upon  !  The  rustics  clustered  round,  tor  everybody  in  the 
village  knew  poor  J  ean's  wants  and  wishes.  The  men  jeered 
hJiM,  the  v/omen  sympathized  with  him.  Master  Pothier 
put  on  liis  old  cap  u  morticr,  and  cried  out :  "  Do  you  want 
to  be  hanged,  Jean  La  Marche?  Marry  your  wife's  sister, 
and  you  will  be  condemned  to  be  trussed  up,  by  all  the 
laws  of  the  Imperium  !  " 

"  What !  do  you  mean  to  say  they  will  hang  me,  Master 
Pothier,  if  I  marry  my  wife's  sister  ?     The  sexton  says  it 


THE  COlfTUME  DE  PARIS. 


441 


J 


would  be  poly<Tamy  even  in  the  churchyard  for  a  man  to 
have  two  wives  lying  tiicre.     Would  it  ?  " 

"  Hang  you  ?  yes  !  and  polygamy  is  a  hanging  matter, 
and  your  case  for  merely  thinking  of  it  is  first  cousin  to 
the  gallows!" 

"I  don't  believe  it,  Master  Potiiier!  Who  are  vour  au- 
thorities?" Jean  had  learned  the  names  of  sundr\' famous 
law  Doctors  from  his  frequent  discussions  with  Master 
Pothier. 

"  My  authorities  ?  Listen,  Jean  La  Marche  !  "  And 
Master  Pothier  launched  into  a  musical  descant  of  great 
authorities  on  the  subject : 

"  'Si  vous  conscillcy  nos  Auteurs, 

Legislate iirs  et  glossateurs  ; 
Jason,  Alicial,  Cujas, 
Cc  grand  liomnie  si  capable  ! 
La  polyganiie  est  un  eas. 

Est  un  ca.s  pendable  !  ' 

*'  If  that  will  not  hang  you,  Jean  La  Marche,  you  are  not 
worth  hanging,  and  that  is  my  opinion  as  well  as  Moliere's, 
for  which  I  charge  you  a  roimd  of  Norman  cider  for  this 
fair  company! " 

The  opinion  of  Master  Pothier  was  received  witli  tumul- 
tuous applause.  Jean  was  overwhelmed,  but  in  revenge 
swore  he  would  sing  his  best  song,  the  famous  old  Apologie 
du  Ci.fn',  a  Norman  ditty  of  the  fourteenth  century,  which 
had  been  brought  to  the  colony  in  the  ships  of  Jacques 
Caitier. 

"  Now  fill  all  your  mugs,"  cried  he,  "  and  be  in  time 
with  the  chorus.  I  will  prove  to  you  that  cider  is  better 
than  law  any  day." 

Jean  twanged  his  fiddle,  and  handling  his  bow  like* a 
genuine  virtuoso,  began  the  jolly  old  ballad : 


De  nous  se  rit  le  r>an9(.is, 

Mais  quo!  cpril  en  die, 
Le  cidre  de  Normandie, 

Vaut  bien  son  vin  (pielqucfois  ! 
Coule  a  val  !  et  loge,  loge  ! 

II  fait  grand  bien  a  la  gorge  ! 

Ta  bonte,  O  cidre  beau  ! 
De  te  boire  nie  con  vie, 
Mais  pour  le  moins  jc  tc  prie 


\    i: 


442 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 

Nc  mc  troulile  le  cervcau  I 
Coule  a  val  !  ct  logo,  loge  ! 
II  fait  grand  bicn  a  la  gorge  ! 

Voisin  ne  songc  en  proces  I 

Trends  le  bien  qui  se  presente  ! 

Mais,  que  I'iioinnie  se  contente, 
II  en  a  tuujuurs  assez  ! 

Cuuie  a  val  et  loge,  loge  I 
II  fait  grand  bien  a  la  gorge  ! 

The  Apohgie  tin  Cidrc  was  sung  in  Jean's  best  timbre, 
and  chorused  con  amove  by  the  company  with  a  rattling 
accompaniment  of  pewter  mugs  ;  id  hard  knuckles  rapping 
on  the  oak  table. 

Master  Pothier  threw  up  his  hands  in  ecstasy,  repeated 
the  chorus,  and  proposed  a  double  round  in  honor  of  the 
Lady  de  Tilly  and  the  fair  young  chatelaine.  Mademoiselle 
Amelie.     It  was  drank  with  enthusiasm. 

"  I  want  now,"  continued  Master  Pothier,  "to  drink 
the  health  and  happiness  of  the  young  Seigneur  de  Repen- 
tigny,  and  a  long  law  suit  and  a  short  purse  to  the  censi- 
taire  who  will  not  join  in  it." 

"Hush,  Master  Pothier!  Don't  name  the  young 
Seigneur,  "  interjected  Jean  La  Marche,  "  he  is  hi  the 
parlor  yonder  playing  dice  and  drinking  hot  wine,  with  the 
Chevalier  De  Pean  and  two  other  big  dogs  of  the  Fri- 
ponne." 

"  The  Chevalier  de  Pean  !  The  secretary  of  the  Inten- 
dant  !  is  he  here  ?  "  asked  Master  Pothier,  discreetly  lower- 
ing  his  voice,  "  what  brings  him  to  Tilly  ?  " 

"  Some  devil's  business  of  the  Friponne  I  warrant  !  " 
whispered  Jean.  *'  I  kept  aloof  for  a  week  fearing  he  was 
making  inquiries  about  the  riot,  but  finding  all  right  and 
being  very  thirsty,  1  could  not  stay  away  from  the  Tilly 
Arms  anv  longer.  Do  you  know  the  Chevalier  de  Pean, 
Master  Pothier } " 

"  Know  him  !  I  know  every  dog  of  high  and  low  de- 
gree in  the  Capital." 

"  He  is  a  gay,  lively  fellow  !  but  he  has  an  eye  to  cheat 
man  and  woman  or  I  am  no  judge  !  What  do  you  think 
Master  Pothier  ?  "  asked  Jean. 

"  What  do  I  think  ?"  repeated  Master  Pothier,  taking  a 
serious  pull  at  the  tankard  and  slowly  shaking  his  head  as 
he  echoed  the  question.     "  I  think  he  is  worthy  to  be  sec- 


A    WILD  NIGHT  LVDOORS  AND   OUT. 


443 


retarv  to  Cains  Verres  himself."  Master  Potliier  had  not 
quite  lost  the  tincture  of  his  humanities  learned  at  the  old 
school  of  Aries. 

"  Who  is  that,  Master  Pothier  ?  "  Jean  had  a  prodigious 
respect  for  learning,  and  the  more  in  proportion  to  the  less 
he  knew  of  it. 

"  Caius  Verres !  "  replied  Master  Pothier,  as  cau- 
tious as  a  fox.  "  He  was  a  Roman  and  should  be  spoken 
of  in  the  Roman  tongue  ;  he  was  Intendant  of  Sicily /^y*- 
iilatiE  7\'Xixtie fuiiilitus  evctrsccque  Pyovinc'uc  !  like  this  poor 
New- France  of  ours,  and  that  is  my  opinion  !  " 

Honest  Jean  was  perfectly  content  with  Master  Pothier's 
explanation.  It  was  Latin  like  what  he  heard  at  mass,  and 
therefore  to  be  taken  on  trust  with  implicit  confidence. 
The  rest  of  the  company  were  of  the  same  mind,  for  not 
one  of  them  thought  it  necessary  to  ask  Master  Pothier 
for  an  interpretation  of  his  learned  opinion  of  the  Intend- 
ant. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


A  WILD  NIGHT  INDOORS  AND  OUT. 


e- 

It 

ik 


Master  Pothier  leaned  back  his  head  and  twirled  his 
thumbs  for  a  few  minutes  without  speaking  or  listening  to 
the  babble  around  him,  which  had  now  turned  upon  the 
war  and  the  latest  sweep  of  the  royal  connnissaries  for 
corn  and  cattle.  "  Did  you  say,  Jean  La  Marche,"  said  he, 
"that  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  was  playing  dice  and 
drinking  hot  wine  with  the  Chevalier  de  Pean  and  two  big 
dogs  of  the  Friponne  ?  " 

"  I  did.  "  Jean  spoke  with  a  choking  sensation.  "Our 
young  Seigneur  has  broken  out  again  wilder  than  ever  and 
is  neither  to  hold  nor  bind  any  longer  !  " 

"  Aye  !"  replied  Master  Pothier  reflectively,  "the  best 
bond  I  could  draw  would  not  bind  him  more  than  a  spider's 
thread  !  They  are  stilT  necked  as  bulls,  these  De  Repen- 
tignys,  and  will  bear  no  yoke  but  what  they  put  on  of 
themselves  !  Poor  lad  !  Do  they  know  at  the  Manor 
House  he  is  here  drinking  and  dicing  with  the  Chevalier  de 
Pean  ?  " 


444 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


i 


"  No  !  Else  all  the  rain  in  heaven  would  not  have  pre- 
vented his  being  looked  after  l^y  M;tdenioisclIe  Amelie 
and  iMy  Lady,"  answered  Jean.  "  Flis  friend  Pierre  Phili- 
bc'i  t  who  is  now  a  great  officer  of  the  King,  went  last 
night  to  iJatiscan  on  some  matter  of  the  army,  as  his 
groom  told  me.  Had  he  been  here,  Le  Gardeur  would  not 
have  spent  the  day  at  the  Tilly  Arms  as  we  poor  habitans 
do  when  it  is  wasliing  day  at  home." 

"  Pierre  Philibert  !  "  Master  Pothier  rubbed  his  hands 
at  this  reminder,  "I  remember  iiim  Jean  I  A  hero  like  St. 
Denis!  It  was  he  who  walked  into  the  chateau  of  the 
Intendant  and  brought  off  young  De  Repentigny  as  a  cat 
does  her  kitlcn," 

"  What,  in  his  mouth.  Master  Pothier  ?  " 

"  None  of  your  quips,  Jean,  keep  cool !  "  Master  Pothier's 
own  face  grew  red.  "  Never  ring  the  coin  that  is  a  gift,  and 
do  not  stretch  my  comparisons  like  your  own  wit,  to  a  bare 
thread.  If  I  had  said  in  his  mouth,  what  then  ?  It  was  by 
word  of  mouth  I  warrant  you  that  he  carried  him  away 
from  Peaumanoir.  Pity,  he  is  not  here  to  take  him  away 
from  the  Tilly  Arms  !  " 

Master  Pothier  rose  and  looked  through  the  window 
against  which  the  rain  was  beating  furiously.  The  gloom 
of  approaching  night  began  to  mingle  distant  objects 
together.  Put  on  the  edge  of  the  hill,  cutting  the  grey  sky, 
the  tall  pines  stood  out  distinctly,  and  bowed  their  tops  in 
the  wind,  which  was  scattering  the  mist  before  sunset,  with 
promise,  perhajDS,  of  a  fair  day  for  to  morrow.  But  as  yet 
there  was  no  lull  in  the  driving  rain.  The  eye  of  Master 
Pothier  traced  with  a  dubious  glance  the  steep  road  lead- 
ing up  the  hill.  It  was  lost  in  darkness  before  it  reached 
the  sunnnit. 

Master  Pothier  reflected  on  the  long  league  to  the 
Manor  House  behind  the  hill.  Then  upon  the  rain  and 
the  cominir  darkness,  and  turniufr  to  the  fjlowino-  fire,  the 
dry  chinniey  corner,  the  good  liquor  and  the  good  company, 
he  resumed  his  seat  stolidly,  refilled  his  pipe  and  began 
do<riredlv  to  smoke  as  if  he  did  not  mean  to  stir  out  of  his 
warm  corner  any  more  that  night. 

But  it  was  no  use.  Master  Pothier  was  very  fidgety. 
The  sound  of  voices,  the  rattle  and  clash  of  the  dice  box 
in  the  distant  parlor  reached  his  ear  amidst  the  laughter 
and  o-abble  of  the  common  room.     He  tried  the  tankard 


A    WILD  NIGHT  INDOORS  AND  OUT. 


445 


the 

and 

the 

Diiny, 

jegan 

If  his 

ety. 

box 
^hter 
Ikard 


and  drank  deep  drauj^hts  to  compose  his  mind,  and  fancy- 
ing he  was  drowsy,  drank  again  to  rouse  himself  up  and 
keep  awake. 

"  A  man  may  as  well  walk  on  it  as  sit  on  it !  "  said  he. 
"  The  cause  is  decided  against  me,  and  I  must  pay  the  costs  ! 
Jean  La  Marche,  will  you  go  with  me  to  the  Manor  House 
to  night  ?  " 

"To  the  Manor  House  ?  "  replied  Jean  very  thickly,  for 
he,  too,  had  been  trying  to  float  his  thoughts  by  giving  them 
plenty  of  liquor  to  swim  in.  "The  way  is  as  long  as  a 
Christmas  Carol,  and  the  rain  will  spoil  my  fiddle  strings  ; 
but  I  will  not  refuse  you,  Master  Polhier  !  these  dogs  of 
the  Friponne  are  barking  louder  and  louder.  They  will 
devour  LeGardeur  before  morning  !  I  will  go  with  you,  give 
me  >our  hand,  old  Robin  !  But  I  lind  it  hard  to  rise  with  a 
heavy  seat  like  this  under  me. 

With  a  mutual  pull.  Master  Pothier  and  Jean  taking 
hold  of  hands  manag'  d  to  get  upon  their  legs,  and  with 
some  lurching  and  unsteady  squaring,  they  stretched  them- 
selViCs  into  their  great  coats.  With  a  jug  of  Santa  Cruz  rum 
as  sea  stores,  the  two  good-natured  fellows  more  willing 
than  capable,  set  out  arm  in  arm  on  a  tramp  through  the 
rain  and  darkness  to  the  Manor  House. 

Sooth  to  say  they  never  reached  it !  for  stojiping  to  re- 
fresh themselves  by  the  wayside  in  a  hut  tenanted  by  an  old 
boon  companion,  they  were  welcomed  with  such  cmprcsse- 
ment  and  hospitality  that  once  seated  by  his  fire  Master 
Pothier  took  out  his  jug,  and  Jean  La  Marche  his  violin 
for  a  tune  to  cheer  them  on  their  tramp. 

Minutes  ran  on  to  hours,  hours  stretched  to  the  third 
watch.  The  jug  was  exliausted,  Jean's  elbows  flagged. 
The  long  ballad  of  the  King's  son,  with  original  variations, 
was  never  finished.  They  forgot  their  mission  and  drop- 
ped down  one  by  one  upon  the  hearth.  The  host  and  his 
guests  all  slept  till  day. 

When  they  woke  up,  the  bright  sun  was  shining,  the 
storm  was  all  gone.  Master  Pothier  and  Jean  with  some 
effort  recollected  how,  why  and  when  they  had  g(H  to  the 
hut  of  Roger  Bontemps.  A  sense  of  honest  shame  crept 
over  them.  They  were  debating  whether  to  go  on  to  the 
Manor  House,  or  to  sneak  back  to  the  village,  when  a 
groom  rode  up  who  had  been  sent  at  dawn  of  day  to  the 
Tilly  Arms,  and  was  returning  with  the  intelligence  that 


11 


r-ft 


446 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


Lc  Gardcur  had  embarked  that  morning  in  a  canoe  with 
the  Chevalier  dc  Pean  and  his  companions,  and  gone  to 
the  city. 

The  niglit  had  been  a  hard  one  in  the  little  inn.  The 
habitans  and  fishermen  reduced  to  comparative  quiet 
by  the  departure  of  Master  Pothier  and  Jean  La  Marche, 
with  their  money  spent  and  credit  dithcult,  left  by  ones 
and  two's  to  trudge  or  reel  home  as  best  they  could. 
Some  of  them  were  suddenly  sobered  by  the  prospect  of 
the  lecture  that  they  knew  was  simmering  for  them  in  the 
mind  of  the  good  wife,  who  with  gathered  br.jws  was  rock- 
ing herself  on  her  stool  before  the  clying  fire  nursing  her 
wrath  like  a  cross  baby  in  her  bosom,  ready  to  throw  it  at 
the  head  of  the  good  man  as  he  came  reeling  into  his  cot- 
tage. 

In  proportion  as  the  common  room  of  the  inn  grew 
quiet  by  the  departure  of  its  guests,  the  parlor  occupied  by 
the  gentlemen  became  more  noisy  and  distinct  in  its 
confusion.  The  song,  the  laugh,  the  jest,  and  jingle  of 
glasses  mingled  with  the  perpetual  rattle  of  dice  or  the 
thumps  which  accompanied  the  play  of  successful  cards. 

Paul  Gaillard,  the  host,  a  timid  little  fellow  not  used  to 
such  high  imperious  guests  only  ventured  to  look  into  the 
parlor  when  summoned  for  more  wine.  He  was  a  born 
censitaire  of  the  house  of  Tilly  and  felt  shame  and  pity  as  he 
beheld  the  dishevelled  figure  of  his  young  Seigneur  shaking 
the  dice  box,  and  defying  one  and  all  to  another  cast,  for 
love,  liquor  or  whole  handfuls  of  uncounted  coin. 

Paul  Gaillard  had  ventured  once  to  n'hisper  something 
to  Le  Gardeur  about  sendnig  his  Caleche  to  the  Manor 
house,  hoping  that  his  youthful  master  would  consent  to  be 
driven  home.  But  his  proposal  was  met  by  a  wild  laugh 
from  La  Gardeur  and  a  good  humored  expulsion  from  the 
room. 

He  dared  not  again  interfere,  but  contented  himself 
with  waiting  until  bredk  of  day  to  send  a  message  to  the 
Lady  de  Tilly  informing  her  of  the  sad  plight  of  his  young 
Master. 

De  Pean  with  a  great  object  in  view  had  summoned  Le 
Mercier  and  Emeric  de  Lanlagnac  from  the  city  ;  potent 
topers  and  hard  players,  to  assist  him  in  his  desperate 
game  for  the  soul,  body  and  fortune  of  Le  Gardeur  de 
Kepentigny. 


A   WILD  NIGHT  INDOORS  AND   OUT. 


447 


for 


ling 


iself 

the 

)ung 

I  Le 
tent 
irate 
de 


They  came  willingly.  The  Intendant  had  laughingly 
wished  them  hon  voyage!  and  a  speedy  return  with  liis 
friend  Ix  (i.irdeur,  giving  lluMU  no  other  intimation  of 
his  wishes,  nor  could  llu;y  surmise  that  he  had  any  other 
object  in  view  than  tiie  pleasure  of  again  meeting  a  pleasant 
companion  of  his  table  and  a  sharer  of  their  pleasures. 

I)e  Pean  had  nf)  dilBcully  in  enticing  Le  (lardeur  down 
to  the  \illage  inn  where  he  iiad  arranged  that  he  should 
meet  by  mere  accident  as  it  were,  his  old  city  friends. 

The  bold  generous  nature  of  Le  Gardeur  who  neither 
suspected  nor  feared  evil,  greeted  them  with  warmth. 

They  were  j'ovial  fc  ^  e  knew,  who  would  be  affroMed 
if  he    refused   to  dr'  cup  of  wine   with   them.     They 

talked  of  the  gossip  ot  the  city,  its  coteries  and  p'jasant 
scandals,  and  of  the  beauty  and  splendor  of  the  Queen  of 
society — Angel icjue  des  Meloises. 

Le  Gardeur  with  a  painful  sense  of  his  last  interview 
with  Angelic[ue  and  never  for  a  moment  forgetting  her  reit- 
erated words  :  "  I  love  you,  Le  Gardeur,  but  1  will  not 
marry  you,"  kept  silent  whenever  she  was  named,  but 
talked  with  an  air  of  cheerfulness  on  every  other   to{)ic. 

His  one  glass  of  wine  was  soon  followed  by  another. 
He  was  pressed  with  such  cordiality  that  he  could  not 
refuse.  The  fire  was  rekindled,  at  first  with  a  faint  glow 
upon  his  cheek,  and  a  sparkle  in  his  eye  ;  but  the  table 
soon  overflowed  with  wine,  mirth  and  laughter.  He  drank 
without  reflection  and  soon  spoke  with  warmth  and  loose- 
ness from  all  restraint. 

De  Pean,  resolved  to  excite  Le  Gardeur  to  the  utmost, 
would  not  cease  alluding  to  Angelic[ue.  He  recurred 
again  and  again  to  the  splendor  of  her  charms  and  the  fascin- 
ation of  her  ways.  He  watched  the  effect  of  his  speech 
upon  the  countenance  of  Le  Gardeur,  keenly  observant  of 
every  expression  of  interest  excited  by  the  mention  of  her. 

"We  will  drink  to  her  bright  eyes,"  exclaimed  De  Pean, 
filling  his  glass  until  it  ran  over,  ''  first  in  beauty  and  worthy 
to  be  first  in  place  in  New-France.  Vea  or  Old  France 
either  !  and  he  is  a  heathen  who  will  not  drink  this  toast !  " 

"  Le  Gardeur  will  not  drink  it !  Neither  would  I  in  his 
place,"  replied  Kmeric  de  Lantagnac,  too  drunk  now  to 
mind  what  he  said.  "  I  would  drink  to  the  bright  eyes  of 
no  woman  who  had  played  me  the  trick  Ange'lique  has 
played  upon  Le  Gardeur  !  " 


"7^ 


448 


THE  CIIIKN  nOR. 


**  What  trick  has  she  played  upon  mc  ? "  repeated  Le 
Gardcur  with  a  touch  of  an;;er. 

*'  Why,  she  has  jillc;(l  you,  and  now  flics  at  higher  game, 
and  noihiiig  but  a  prince  of  tlio  blood  will  satisfy  her  !  " 

"Does  she  say  that  ?  or  do  you  invent  it  ?"  Le  Gar- 
deur  was  almost  chokincj  with  angry  feelings.  Emeric 
cared  little  what  he  said  drunk  or  sober.  He  replied 
gravely  : — 

"Oh,  all  the  women  in  the  city  say  she  said  it !  But 
you  know,  LeGardeur,  women  will  lie  of  one  another  faster 
than  a  man  can  count  a  hundred  by  tens." 

l)e  Tcan  while  enjoying  the  vexation  of  X-e  Gardeur, 
feared  that  the  banter  of  Kmeric  might  have  an  ill  effect 
on  his  scheme.  '•  I  do  not  believe  it,  Le  Gardeur,"  said  he, 
*'  Angelique  is  too  true  a  woman  to  say  what  she  means,  to 
every  jealous  rival.  The  women  hope  she  has  jilted  you. 
That  counts  one  more  chance  for  them,  you  know  !  Is 
not  thai  feminine  arithmetic,  Le  Mercicr  ?  "  asked  he. 

*' It  is  at  the  Friponne,"  replied  Le  Mercier,  laughing. 
"  But  the  man  who  becomes  debtor  to  Angelique  des  Me- 
loises  will  never,  if  I  know  her,  be  discharged  out  of  her 
books  even  if  he  pay  his  debt." 

"  Aye,  they  say  she  never  lets  a  lover  go,  or  a  friend 
either,"  replied  l)e  Pean.  "I  have  proof  to  convince  Le 
Gardeur  that  Angelique  has  not  jilted  him.  Emeric  re- 
ports women's  tattle,  nothing  more." 

Le  Gardeur  was  thoroughlv  roused.  ^''  Par  Dien  .^  "  ex- 
claimed  he,  "  my  affairs  arc  well  talked  over  in  the  city  I 
think  !  Who  gave  man  or  woman  the  right  to  talk  of  me 
thus  ?  " 

**  No  one  gave  them  the  right.  But  the  women  claim 
it  indefeasibly  from  Eve,  who  commenced  talking  of 
Adam's  affairs  with  Satan  the  first  time  her  man's  back 
was  turned." 

"  Pshaw  !  Angdlique  des  Meloises  is  as  sensible  as  she 
is  beautiful  !  she  never  said  that !  No,  Par-  Dku !  she 
never  said  to  man  or  woman  that  she  had  jilted  me,  or 
gave  reason  for  others  to  say  so  !  " 

Le  Gardeur  in  his  vexation  poured  out  with  nervous 
hand  a  large  glass  of  pure  brandy  and  drank  it  down.  It 
had  an  instant  effect.  His  forehead  flushed  and  his  eyes 
dilated  with  fresh  fire,  "  She  never  said  that  I  "  repeated 
he  fiercely.  "  I  would  swear  it  on  my  mother's  head  she 


A   WILD  NICIIT  INDOORS  A. YD  OUT. 


449 


to 


re- 


she 

she 

or 

:ous 

It 

iyes 

ited 

she 


never  did!   and  would  kill  any  man  who  would  dare  alVinn 
it  of  her  !  " 

"  Ri<;ht !  ihc  way  to  win  a  woman  is  never  to  f^ivu  Ikt 
up,"  answered  I)e  Pcan.  "Hark  you,  Lo  (I.irdcur,  all  the 
city  knows  that  she  favored  you  more  than  any  of  the  lest 
of  her  lej;ion  of  admirers.  Why  are  you  mo|)in;j;  away 
your  lime  here  at  Tilly  when  you  ought  to  be  running;  do«\n 
your  jj;ame  in  the  city 


iMv  Atalanta  is  too  fleet  of  foot  for  me,   De  IVa 


n. 


replied  Le  (Jardcur.     '*  I  have  <;;iven  up  the  chase.      1  have 
not  the  luck  of  Hippomanes." 

*'That  is,  she  is  too  fast  !  "  said  I)e  Fean  mo(  kiniilv. 
"  But  have  you  thrown  a  golden  apple  at  her  feet  to  stop 
your  runaway  nymph  .-*  " 

"1  have  thrown  myself  at  her  feet,  De  I'ean  !  And  in 
vain,"  said  Le  (lartleur,  guljiing  down  another  cup  of  brandy. 

De  Pean  watched  the  effect  of  the  deep  potations  whit  h 
Le  Gardeur  now  poured  down  to  quench  the  rising  ti;es 
kindled  in  his  breast,  "  Come  here,  Le  (laideur,"  said  he, 
"  I  have  a  message  for  you  which  1  would  not  deliver  be- 
fore, lest  you  might  be  angry." 

De  Pean  led  him  into  a  recess  of  the  room.  "  You  are 
wanted  in  the  city,"  whispered  he  ;  "  Angeli(jiie  sent  this 
little  note  by  me.  She  put  it  in  my  hand  as  1  was  embark- 
ing for  Tilly,  and  blushed  redder  than  a  rose  as  she  did  so. 
I' promised  to  deliver  it  safely  to  you." 

It  was  a  note  quaintlv  folded  in  a  style  Le  Gardeur  re- 
cognized well,  inviting  him  to  return  to  the  city.  Its  lan- 
guage was  a  mixture  of  ligiit  persiflage  and  tantalizing 
coquetry.  *'  She  was  dying  of  thedulness  of  the  city.  The 
late  ball  at  the  palace  had  been  a  failure  lacking  the  pres 
ence  of  Le  Gardeur.  Her  house  was  forlorn  without  the 
visits  of  her  dear  friend,  and  she  wanted  his  trusty  coun- 
sel in  an  affair  of  the  last  importance  to  her  welfare  and 
happiness." 

"  That  girl  loves  you  and  you  may  have  her  for  the 
asking!"  continued  De  Pean,  as  Le  Gardeur  sat  crump- 
ling the  letter  up  in  his  hand.  De  Pean  watched  his  coun- 
tenance with  the  eye  of  a  basilisk. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  asked  Le  Gardeur,  eagerly,  "  l)ut 
no,  I  have  no  more  faith  in  woman  ;  she  does  not  mean  it  !  " 

"  But  if  she  does  mean  it !  would  you  go,  Le  Gardeur  ?  " 

"  Would  I  go  ?  "  replied  he  up  excitedly  ;  "  yes,  1  would 

29 


r^ 


J*  H 


5    i 


450 


yy/i^:  cm  en  a  or. 


go  to  the  lowest  pit  in  he)l  for  her !  but  why  are  you  taunt- 
ing me,  L)e  Peaa  ?  " 

"  I  taunt  you  !  Read  her  note  ac^ain  !  She  wants  your 
trusty  coui)scl  in  an  affair  of  the  last  importance  to  her 
welfare  and  happiness.  You  know  what  is  the  affair  of 
last  importance  to  a  woman  !  will  you  refuse  her  now,  ^Jt 
Gardeur  ? " 

"  No,  Par  Dicit  I  I  can  refuse  her  nothing  ;  no,  not  if 
she  asked  me  for  my  head,  although  I  k;:;ow  it  is  but 
mockery." 

"  Never  mind  !  Then  you  will  return  with  us  to  the 
city  ?    We  start  at  daybreak." 

"  Yes,  I  will  go  with  you  De  Pean  ;  you  have  made  me 
drunk,  and  I  am  willing  to  stay  drunk  till  I  leave  Amelie 
and  my  Aunt  and  Heloise,  up  at  the  M;uior  House.  Pierre 
Philibert,  he  will  be  anicrv  that  I  leave  hi;n,  but  he  canfol- 
low,  and  ihey  can  all  follow  !  I  hate  myself  for  it,  De 
Pean  !  But  Angelique  des  Meloises  is  to  me  more  than 
creature  or  creator.  It  is  a  siri  to  love  a  woman  as  I  love 
her,  r3e  Pean  1 " 

De  Pean  fairly  writhed  before  the  spirit  he  evoked. 
He  was  not  so  sure  of  his  game  but  that  it  might  yet  be 
lost.  He  knew  Angelique's  passionate  impulses,  and  he 
thouglit  that  no  woman  could  i-esist  such  devotion  as  that 
of  Le  Gardeur. 

He  kept  down  his  feelings  however.  He  saw  that  Le 
Gardeur  was  ripe  for  ruin.  They  returned  to  the  table  and 
drank  still  more  freely.  Dice  and  cards  were  resumed,  fresh 
challenges  were  thrown  out  ;  Emeric  and  Le  Mercier  were 
already  deep  in  a  game  ;  money  was  pushed  to  and  fro.  The 
contagion  fastened  like  a  plague  upon  Le  Gardeur,  who 
sat  down  at  the  table,  drev/  forth  a  full  purse,  and  pulling 
up  every  anchor  of  restraint  set  sail  on  the  fioodtide  of 
drinking  and  gaming  which  lasted  without  ceasing  until 
break  of  day. 

De  Pean  neve»"  for  a  moment  lost  sight  of  his  scheme 
for  the  abduction  of  Le  Gardeur.  He  got  ready  for  de- 
parture, and  with  a  drunken  rush  and  a  broken  song  the 
four  gallants  vrith  unwashed  faces  and  disordered  clothes 
staggere  '  into  their  canoe  and  with  a  shout  bade  the  boat- 
men start. 

The  hardy  canotiers  were  ready  for  departure.  They 
headed  their  long  canoes  down  the  flowing  river,  dashed 


I 


% 


A   WILD  NIGHT  INDOORS  AND  OUT. 


451 


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Jde- 

Ihes 
)at- 

liey 


I 


their  paddles  into  the  water,  just  silvered  with  the  rays  of 
the  rising  sun  and  shot  down  stream  towards  tlie  city  of 
Quebec. 

De  Pean,  ehate  with  his  success,  did  not  let  the  gaiety 
of  the  part}'  flag  for  a  moment  during  their  return.  They 
drank,  sang  and  talked  balderdash  and  indecencies  in  a 
way  to  bring  a  look  of  disgust  upon  the  cheeks  of  the 
rough  boatmen. 

Le  Gardeur,  from  an  innate  cleanness  of  soul  and 
imagination,  intoxicated  as  he  might  i)e,  never  defiled  his 
lips  with  impurities,  althijugh  he  drank  and  rioted  to  match 
the  wildest  of  his  companions.  Emeric  de  Lantagnac 
and  he  sat  supporting  one  another,  drinking  unmeaning 
healths  to  all  the  bright  eyes  in  the  city,  which  they  were 
going  to  see,  r.nd  joining  in  the  wild  chorus  of  the  boat- 
men, who  strove  vainly  to  dvown  the  noise  of  their  drunken 
passengers. 

Much  less  sober  than  when  they  left  Tilly,  the  riotous 
party  reached  the  capital.  The  canotiers  with  rapid 
strokes  of  the  paddle  passed  tiie  high  cliffs  and  guarded 
walls,  and  made  for  the  quay  of  the  Friponne,  De  Pean, 
forcing  silence  upon  his  companions  as  they  passed  the 
Sault  an  Alatc/ot,  where  a  crowd  of  idle  boatmen  hailed 
them  With  volleys  of  raillery,  which  only  ceased  when  the 
canoe  was  near  enough  for  them  to  see  whom  it  contained. 
They  w^re  instantly  silent.  The  rigorous  search  mpde  by 
order  of  the  Intcndant  after  the  late  rioters,  and  the  sum- 
mary punishment  inflicted  upon  all  who  had  been  convicted, 
had  inspired  a  careful  avoidance  of  offence  towards  Bigot 
and  the  high  officers  of  his  staff. 

De  Pean  landed  quietly,  few  caring  to  turn  their  heads 
too  often  towards  him.  Le  Gardeur,  whollv  under  his 
control,  staggered  out  of  the  canoe,  and  taking  his  arm, 
was  dragged,  rather  than  led  up  to  the  palace,  whe  'e  Pigot 
greeted  the  party  with  loud  welcome.  Apartments  were 
assigned  to  Le  Gardeur,  as  to  a  most  honored  guest  1.1  the 
palace.  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  was  finally  and 
wholly  in  the  power  of  the  Intendant. 

Bigot  looked  triumphant,  anil  congratulated  De  Pean 
on  the  success  of  his  mission.  "We  will  keep  him  now  1  " 
said  he,  "  Le  Gardeur  musi  never  draw  a  sober  breath 
again  until  we  have  done  with  him  !  " 

De  Pean  looked  knowingly  at  Bigot ;    "  I  understand," 


452 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


said  he,  "  Emeric  and  Le  Mercier  will  drink  him  blind,  and 
Cadet,  Varin,  and  the  rest  of  us  will  rattle  the  dice  like 
hail.  We  must  j)luck  the  pi^i^eon  to  his  last  feather  before 
he  will  feel  desperate  enough  to  play  your  game,  Cheva- 
lier." 

"As  you  like,  De  Pean,  about  that,"  replied  Bigot, 
"  only  mind  that  he  does  not  lea\e  the  palace.  His  friends 
will  run  after  him.  That  accursed  Philibert  will  be  here;  on 
your  life  do  not  let  him  see  him  !  Hark  you  !  when  he 
comes,  make  Le  Gardeur  affront  him  by  some  offensive 
reply  to  his  inquiry.     You  can  do  it." 

De  Pean  took  the  hint,  and  acted  upon  it  by  forging 
that  infamous  card  in  the  name  of  Le  Gardeur,  and  send- 
ing it  as  his  reply  to  Pierre  Phihbert. 


CHAPTER  XLIL 


MEF  Z  MALHEUR. 


La  Corriveau,  eager  to  commence  her  work  of  wicked- 
ness, took  up  her  abode  at  the  liousc  of  her  ancient  friend. 
Mere  Malheur,  whither  she  went  on  the  night  of  her  first 
interview  with  Angc'lique. 

It  was  a  small  house,  built  of  uncut  stones,  with  rough 
stone  steps  and  lintels,  a  peaked  roof,  and  low  overhang- 
ing eaves,  hiding  itself  under  the  shadow  of  the  cliff,  so 
closely,  that  it  seemed  to  form  a  part  of  the  rock  itself. 

Its  sole  inmate,  an  old  crone  who  had  reached  the  last 
degree  of  woman's  ugliness  and  woman's  heartlessness  : 
Mere  Malheur,  sold  fair  winds  to  superstitious  sailors,  and 
good  luck  to  hunters  -rnd  voyageurs.  She  was  not  a  little 
suspected  of  dabbling  in  other  forbidden  things.  Half 
believing  in  her  own  impostures,  she  regarded  La  Corriveau 
with  a  feeling  akin  to  worship,  who  in  return  for  this 
devotion,  imparted  to  her  a  few  secrets  of  minor  impor- 
tance in  her  diabolic  arts. 

La  Corriveau  was  ever  a  welcome  guest  at  the  housG 
of  Mere  Malheur,  who  feasted  her  lavishly,  and  served  her 
obsequiously,  but  did  not  press  with  undue  curioSi'.y  to 


I 


I 


MERE  MALHEUR. 


453 


learn  her  business  in  the  city.  The  two  women  under- 
stood one  another  well  enough,  not  to  j^ry  too  closely  into 
each  other's  secrets. 

On  this  occasion  La  Corriveau  was  more  than  usually 
reserved,  and  while  .M('re  Malheur  eai^erly  detailed  to  her 
all  the  doings  and  undoings  that  had  happened  in  her 
circle  of  acquaintance,  she  got  little  information  in  return. 
She  shrewdly  conch,  led  that  La  Corriveau  had  business 
on  hand  which  would  not  bear  to  be  spoken  of. 

"  When  you  need  my  help  ask  for  it  without  scruple, 
Dame  JJodier,"  said  the  old  crone.  "I  see  you  have  some- 
thing on  hand  that  may  need  my  aid.  I  would  go  into  the 
fire  to  serve  you,  although  I  would  not  burn  my  finger  for 
anv  other  woman  in  the  world,  and  vou  know  it." 

"  Yes,  1  know  it.  Mere  Malheur,"  La  Corriveau  spoke 
with  an  air  of  superiority,  "  and  you  say  rightly,  I  have 
something  on  hand  which  I  cannot  accomplish  alone,  and 
I  need  your  help,  although  1  cannot  tell  you  yet,  how  or 
against  whom." 

"  Is  it  a  woman  or  a  man?  I  will  only  ask  that 
question.  Dame  Dodier,"  said  the  crone,  turning  upon  her 
a  pair  of  green  inquisitive  eyes. 

"  It  is  a  woman,  and  so  of  course  you  will  help  ms. 
Our  sex  for  the  bottom  of  all  mischief.  Mere  Malheur  ! 
I  do  not  know  whit  women  are  made  for  except  to  plague 
one  another  for  the  sake  of  worthless  men !  " 

The  old  crone  laughed  a  hideous  laugh,  and  playfully 
pushed  her  long  fingers  into  the  ribs  of  La  Corriveau. 
"Made  for  !  quotha  !  men's  temptation  to  be  sure, and  the 
beginning  of  all  mischief!  " 

"  Pretty  temptations,  you  and  I  are,  Mere  Malheur  !  " 
replied  Li  Corriveau  with  a  scornful  laugh. 

"  Well,  we  were  pretty  temptations  once  !  I  will  never 
give  up  that  !  you  must  own  Dame  Dodier,  we  were  both 
pretty  temptations  or.ce  !  " 

'*  Pshaw !  I  wish  I  had  been  a  man  for  my  part," 
replied  La  Corriveau,  impetuously.  "It  was  a  spiteful  cross 
of  fate  to  make  me  a  woman  !  " 

"  But,  Dame  Dodier,  1  like  to  be  a  woman,  I  do  !  A 
man  cannot  be  half  as  wicked  as  a  woman,  especially  if 
she  be  young  and  pretty,"  said  the  old  woman,  laughing 
till  the  tears  ran  out  of  her  bleared  eyes. 

"  Nay,  that  is  true,  Mere  Malheur,  the  fairest  women  in 


r 


r    1 


Mi 


'  "i      i 

i'A  ■'■     -i 

in 


1    s 


■  :!    i» 

it  '■' 


li    i 


454 


77/^  C HI  EN  no  R. 


the  world  are  ever  the  worst !  fair  and  false  !  fair  and  false  ! 
they  are  always  so.  Not  one  better  than  another.  Satan's 
mark  is  upon  all  of  us  !  "  La  Corriveau  looked  an  incar- 
nation of  Hecate  as  she  uttered  this  calumny  upon  her 
sex. 

"  Aye,  I  have  his  mark  on  my  knee,  Dame  Dodier," 
replied  the  crone.  "  See  here  !  It  was  pricked  once  in  the 
high  court  of  Arras,  but  the  fool  judge  decided  that  it  was 
a  mole,  and  not  a  witch  mark !  1  escaped  a  red  gown  that 
time,  however.  [  laughed  at  his  stupiility,  ar.d  bewitched 
him  for  it  in  earnest.  I  was  young  and  pretty  then  !  He 
died  in  a  year,  and  Satan  sat  on  his  grave  in  the  shape 
of  a  black  cat  until  his  friends  set  a  cross  over  it,  I  like 
to  be  a  woman,  I  do,  it  is  so  easy  to  be  wicked,  and  so  nice  I 
I  always  tell  the  girls  that,  and  they  give  me  twice  as 
much  as  if  1  had  told  them  to  be  good  and  nice,  as  they 
call  it  !  Pshaw  !  nice  !  If  only  men  knew  us  as  we  really 
are !  " 

"Well,  I  do  not  like  women.  Mere  Malheur,"  replied 
La  Corriveau,  "  they  sneer  at  you  and  me,  and  call  us 
witch  and  sorceress,  and  they  will  lie,  steal,  kill  and  do 
worse  themselves  for  the  sake  of  one  man  to-dav,  and 
cast  him  off  for  soke  of  another,  to-morrow!  Wise  Solomon 
found  only  one  good  woman  in  a  thousand  ;  the  wisest 
man,  now,  finds  not  one  in  a  worldful  !  It  were  better  all 
of  us  were  dead,  More  Malheur  ;  but  pour  me  out  a  glass 
of  wine,  for  I  am  tired  of  tramping  in  the  dark  to  the 
house  of  that  gay  lady  I  told  you  of." 

Mere  Malheur  poured  out  a  glass  of  choice  Beaume 
from  a  dcmi-Jiannc^  which  she  had  received  from  a  roguish 
sailor,  who  had  stolen  it  from  his  ship. 

"  Rut  you  have  not  told  me  who  she  is,  Dame  Dodier," 
replied  Mere  Malheur,  refilling  the  glass  of  La  Corriveau. 

"  Nor  will  1  yet.  She  is  tit  to  be  your  mistress  and 
mine,  whoever  she  is  \  but  I  shall  not  go  again  to  see 
her." 

And  La  Corriveau  did  not  again  visit  the  house  of 
Angc'lique.  She  had  received  from  her.  precise  information 
respecting  the  movements  of  the  Intendanr.  He  had  gone 
to  the  Trois  Rivieres,  on  urgent  aP'-urs,  and  might  be  ab- 
sent fi.  ■  a  week. 

Ange'litjue  had  received  from  Varin,  in  reply  to  her 
eager  question  for  news,  a  short  falsified  account  of  the 


MERE  MALHEUR. 


455 


proceedings  in    the   council    relative  to  Caroline,  and   of 
Bigot's  indignant  denial  of  all  knowledge  of  her. 

Varin,  as  a  member  of  the  council,  dared  not  reveal  the 
truth,  but  would  give  his  familiars  half  hints,  or  tell  to 
others  elaborate  lies  when  pressed  for  information.  He 
did  not  in  this  case  even  hint  at  the  fact  that  a  search  was 
to  be  made  for  Caroline.  Had  he  done  so,  Angelique 
would  herself  have  given  secret  information  to  the  Gover- 
nor, to  order  the  search  of  IJeai  uanoir,  and  thus  got  her 
rival  out  of  the  way  without  trouble,  risk  or  crime. 

But  it  was  not  to  be.  The  little  word  that  would  have 
set  her  active  spirit  on  fire  to  aid  in  the  search  for  Caro- 
line was  not  spoken,  and  her  thoughts  remained  immove- 
ably  fixed  upon  her  death. 

But  if  Ange'lique  had  been  misled  by  Varin,  as  to  what 
had  passed  at  the  council.  Mere  Malheur,  through  her 
intercourse  with  a  servant  of  Varin,  had  learned  the  truth. 
An  eavesdropping  groom  had  overheard  his  master  and 
the  Intendant  conversins  on  the  letters  of  the  liaron  and 
of  La  Pompadour.  The  man  told  his  sweetheart,  who^ 
coming  with  some  stolen  sweetmeats  to  Mere  Malheur, 
told  her,  wl:o  in  turn  was  not  long  in  imparting  what  she 
had  heard  to  La  Corriveau. 

La  Corriveau  did  not  fail  to  see  that  sho'.dd  Angelique 
discover  thai  her  rival  was  to  be  searched  for,  and  taken  to 
France  if  found,  she  w'ould  at  once  change  her  mind,  and 
Caroline  wor.ld  be  got  rid  of  without  need  of  her  interference. 
But  La  Corriveau  had  got  her  hand  in  ihe  di^h.  She  was 
not  one  to  lose  her  piomised  reward  or  miss  the  chance 
of  so  cursed  a  deed  by  any  untimely  avowal  of  what  she 
knew. 

So  Angelique  was  doomed  to  remain  in  ignorance  until 
too  late.  She  became  the  dupe  of  her  own  passions  and 
the  dupe  of  La  Corriveau,  who  carefully  concealed  from 
her  a  secret  so  important. 

Bigot's  denial  in  the;  (^^uticil  weighed  nothing  with  her. 
She  felt  certain  that  the  lady  was  rio  other  than  Caroline 
de  St.  Castin.  Angeliciue  was  acute  enough  to  perceive 
that  Bigot's  bold  assertion  that  he  knew  nothing  of  her 
bound  him  in  a  chain  of  obliiiation  never  to  confess  after- 

in 

wards  aught  to  the  contrarv.  She  eagerly  persuaded  her- 
self that  he  would  not  regret  to  hear  that  Caroline  had 
died  by  some   sudden  and,  to  appearance,  natural   death, 


T 


llill 


■1  <■ 


i  i  ^; 


456 


THE  ClIIEN  nOR. 


and  thus  relieved  him  of  a  danger,  and  her  of  an  obstacle 
to  iier  marriage. 

Without  making  a  full  confidante  of  Mere  Malheur,  La 
Corrivean  resolved  to  make  use  of  her  in  carrying  out  her 
diabolical  scheme.  Mere  Malheur  had  once  been  a  ser- 
vant at  Beaumanoir.  She  knew  the  house,  and  in  her  hey- 
dav  of  voutli  and  levitv  had  often  smu":iiled  herself  in  and 
out  by  the  subterranean  passage  which  connected  the 
solitary  watch-tower  with  the  vaults  of  the  chateau.  Mere 
Mahu.'ur  knew  Dame  Tremblay,  who  as  the  charming 
Josejjhine,  had  often  consulted  her  upon  the  perplexities  of 
a  heart  divided  among  too  many  lovers. 

'I'he  memory  of  that  fragrant  ])eriod  of  her  life  was  the 
freshest  and  pleasantest  of  all  Dame  Tremblay 's  experi- 
ence. It  was  like  the  odor  of  new-mown  hay,  telling  of 
earlv  suuuner  and  frolics  in  the  li^reen  fields.  She  liked 
nothing  better  than  to  talk  it  all  over,  in  her  snug  room, 
witli  Mere  Malheur,  as  they  sat  opposite  one  another  at 
her  little  table,  each  with  a  cup  of  tea  in  her  hand,  well 
laced  with  brandy,  which  was  a  favorite  weakness  of  them 
both. 

Dame  Tremblay  was  in  private  neither  nice  nor  squeam- 
ish as  to  the  nature  of  her  gossip.  She  and  the  old  fortune- 
teller, when  out  of  sight  of  the  rest  of  the  servants,  had 
alwavs  a  dish  of  the  choicest  scandal,  fresh  from  the 
city. 

La  Corriveau  resolved  to  send  Mere  Malheur  to  Beau- 
manoir, under  the  pretence  of  paying  a  visit  to  Dame 
Tremblay,  in  order  to  open  a  way  of  communication  be- 
twt  -n  herself  and  Caroline.  She  had  learned  enough 
during  her  brief  interview  with  Caroline,  in  the  forest  of  St. 
Valier  and  from  what  she  now  heard  respecting  the  Baron 
de  St.  Castin,  to  convince  her,  that  this  was  no  other  than 
his  missing  daughter. 

"  If  Caroline  could  only  be  induced  to  admit  I^a  Corri- 
veau into  her  secret  chamber,  and  take  her  into  her  confi- 
dence, the  rest^all  the  rest,"  muttered  the  hag  to  herself, 
with  terrible  emphasis,  "  would  be  easy,  and  my  reward 
sure.  But  that  reward  shall  be  measured  in  my  own 
bushel,  not  in  yours,  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises,  when  the 
deed  is  done  ! 

La  Corriveau  knew  the  power  such  a  secret  would  enable 
her  to  exercise  over  Angelique.     She  cvlready  regarded  the 


ill 


MERE  MALHEUR. 


457 


I 


hair  of  her  reputed  riches  as  her  own.  "  Neither  she  nor 
tiie  Intendant  will  ever  dare  ncirlect  me  after  that  !  "  said 
she.  "Wiien  once  Angeliqiie  shall  be  linked  in  with  me 
by  a  secret  compact  of  blood,  the  fortune  of  La  Corriveau 
is  made.  If  the  death  of  this  girl  be  the  elixir  of  life  to 
you.  it  shall  be  the  touchstone  of  fortune  for  ever  to  La 
Corriveau  !  " 

Mere  Malheur  was  next  day  despatched  on  a  visit  to 
her  old  gossip  Dame  Treniblay.  She  had  been  well  tu- 
tored on  every  point  what  to  say,  and  how  to  demean  her- 
self. She  bore  a  letter  to  Caroline,  written  in  the  Italian 
hand  of  La  Cr)rriveau,  who  had  learned  to  write  well  from 
her  mother  Marie  Exili. 

The  mere  possession  of  the  art  of  writing  was  a  rarity 
in  those  davs,  in  the  class  amon<r  whom  she  lived.  La 
Corriveau's  ability  to  write  at  all  was  a  circumstance  as 
remarkable  to  her  illiterate  neighbors  as  the  possession  of 
the  black  art  which  they  ascribed  to  her,  and  not  without 
a  strong  suspicion  that  it  had  the  same  origin. 

Mere  Malheur,  in  anticipation  of  a  cup  of  tea  and 
brandy  with  Dame  Tremblay,  had  dressed  herself,  with 
some  appearance  of  smartness,  in  a  clean,  striped  gown  of 
linsey.  A  peaked  Artois  hat  surmounted  a  broad-frilled 
cap,  which  left  visible  some  tresses  of  coarse  grey  hair  and 
a  pair  of  silver  ear-rings,  which  dangled  with  every  motion 
of  her  head.  Her  shoes  displayed  broad  buckles  of  brass, 
and  her  short  petticoat  showed  a  pair  of  stout  ankles,  en- 
closed in  red  clocked  stockings.  She  carried  a  crutched 
stick  in  her  hand,  by  help  of  which  she  proceeded  vigor- 
ously on  her  journey. 

Starting  in  the  morning,  she  trudged  out  of  the  city 
towards  the  ferry  of  Jean  Le  Nocher,  who  carefully  crossed 
himself  and  his  boat  too  as  he  took  Mere  Malheur  on 
board.  He  wafted  her  over  in  a  hurry,  as  sometiiing  to  be 
got  rid  of  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Jean  would  not  even  have  accei)ted  his  fare  from  her 
had  not  Dame  Rabet — always  at  hand,  noticed  his  hesita- 
tion. She  stepped  promptly  uj)  and  took  the  coin  from 
the  hand  of  Alere  Alalheur.  Dropping  it  in  her  capacious 
pocket,  she  remarked  to  her  husband,  "  You  are  always  a 
fool,  Jean.  Good  money  never  smells  !  besides,  we  will 
pay  it  to  the  Church  as  a  christening  fee,  and  that  will 
make  it  clean  as  the  face  of  St.  Catherine." 


458 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


Mere  Malheur,  althouj^h  accusiomed  to  slii^hts  and 
scorns  when  she  appeared  in  public,  was  provoked  at  the 
remark  of  Babet.  She  struck  her  stick  violently  into  the 
ground,  and  lifting  up  a  bony  finger,  exclaimed,  "  Devil 
fly  away  with  you.  Dame  Babet  !  A  bad  witch  was  spoiled 
when  vou  became  the  wife  of  an  honest  man  I  Your  red 
cheeks  will  be  as  white  as  chalk  before  you  get  another 
when  you  lose  him.  Look  here,"  continued  she,  drawing 
"with  the  end  of  her  stick  the  figure  of  a  pentagram  upon 
the  sand,  ''  when  that  mark  is  rubbed  out  and  gone,  look 
out  for  a  misfortune  !  I  do  not  cause  it,  mind  you,  I  only 
predict  it !  So  now,  Dame  Babet,  good  speed  to  my  journey 
and  bad  luck  to  your  staying  at  home  !  " 

'I'he  old  crone  wheeled  round,  and  dinting  her  stick 
hard  into  the.  ground  at  every  step,  moved  away  quickly, 
leaving  Jean  stupefied  with  terror  and  Babet  flaming  with 
anger,  as  she  chipjied  her  hands  and  vociferated,  "  Aroint 
you  for  a  \\ itch,  Mere  Malheur!  May  you  go  up  to  the 
moon  in  the  flames  of  a  tar-barrel  !  Bad  speed  to  your 
journey,  for  good  it  cannot  be  !  " 

She  has  left  the  devil's  mark  on  the  sand,  Babet,"  said 
Jean,  disconsolately.  "  Shall  we  rub  it  out,  or  get  the  cure 
to  sprinkle  it  with  holy  water?  There  will  be  sure  to  come 
some  misfortune  to  somebody  after  that." 

"  Well,  if  the  misfortune  only  does  not  come  to  us — and 
she  did  not  say  it  would — Jean,  we  need  not  cry  tears.  But 
let  the  mark  remain,  Jean,  and  the  cure  shall  rub  it  out 
and  avert  the  bad  luck  she  has  threatened."  Babet  was 
less  brave  over  the  witch  mark  than  she  ]:)retended  to  be. 

Jean  felt  uneasy,  and  agreed  with  Babet  that  it  were 
best  to  preserve  the  mark  as  long  as  possible,  seeing  that 
bad  luck  was  to  accompany  its  disappearance.  He  ran  to 
the  cottage  and  brought  out  a  tub,  which  he  turned  care- 
fully over  the  pentagram  to  prevent  its  being  obliterated 
before  the  arrival  of  the  cure,  who  was  to  be  informed  of 
this  strange  proceeding  of  Mere  Malheur. 

The  old  crone  went  on  her  way,  cursing  and  laughing 
by  turns,  as  she  passed  up  the  long  hill  of  Charlebourg. 
She  rested  herself  for  a  time  under  the  old  tree  in  front  of 
the  Couronne  de  France,  where  two  or  three  habiians  sat 
enjoying  their  mugs  of  cider,  and  who  prompdy  moved  from 
their  seat  to  make  room  for  her. 

She  sat  down,  looking  at  them  with  her  bleared  eyes, 


MERE  MALHEUR. 


459 


until  they  shied  off  one  by  one,  leavinj^  her  alone  with  the 
stout  landlady,  Dame  Bedard,  and  her  pretty  daughter 
Zoe,  who  at  once  plunged  into  conversation  with  the  old 
woman,  and  finally  demanded  that  she  should  tell  Zoe's 
fortune,  and  what  was  to  happen  after  her  marriage  with 
Antoine  La  Chance. 

Mere  Malheur  satisfied  the  curiosity  of  ?he  mother  and 
daughter  by  a  circumstantial  lie  of  tiie  object  of  her  pres- 
ent journey,  and  having  had  her  hard  duly  crossed  with  a 
piece  of  silver,  she  told  Zoe's  fortune  in  a  way  that  suffused 
her  maiden  cheeks  with  happy  blushes,  and  madt;  her  cry 
out,  "  That  Mere  Malheur,  no  matter  what  folks  said,  was 
the  dearest  and  trustiest  old  woman  in  the  land  ;  that  she 
believed  every  word  told  by  her  would  come  true,  and  that 
time  would  make  it  true." 

Zoe  for  a  long  time  would  not  tell  her  mother  what  the 
fortune-teller  had  said,  but  when  she  did,  both  mother  and 
daughter  laughed  and  looked  as  happy  as  godmothers  at  a 
christening. 

Mere  Malheur,  although  but  half  trusted  by  La  Corri- 
veau,  instinctively  guessed  something  of  the  nature  of  her 
black  errand,  and  was  as  impatient  for  its  accomplishment 
as  if  the  ill  had  been  all  of  her  own  contriving. 

Mere  Malh(?ur  tramped  on,  like  a  heavy  gnome,  through 
the  fallen  and  flying  leaves  of  the  woods  of  Beaumanoir, 
caring  nothing  for  the  golden,  hazy  sky,  the  soft,  balmy 
air,  or  the  varicolored  leaves — scarlet,  yellow,  and  brown, 
of  every  shade  and  tinge,  that  hung  upon  the  autumnal 
trees. 

A  frosty  night  or  two  had  ushered  in  the  summer  of  St. 
Martin,  as  it  was  called  by  the  hahitans — the  Indian  sum- 
mer— that  brief  tir.ie  of  glory  and  enchantment,  which  visits 
us  like  a  gaudy  herald  to  announce  the  approach  of  the 
Winter  King.  It  is  nature's  last  rejoicing  in  the  simshine 
and  the  open  air,  like  the  splendor  and  gaiety  of  a  maiden 
devoted  to  the  cloister,  who  for  a  few  weeks  is  allowed  to 
flutter  like  a  bird  of  jjaradise  amid  the  pleasures  and  gaie- 
ties of  the  world,  and  then  comes  the  end.  Her  lorks  of 
pride  are  shorn  off  ;  she  veils  her  beauty, and  kncils  a  pi'.i 
on  the  cold  stones  of  her  passionless  cell,  out  of  which, 
even  with  repentance,  there  conies  no  deliverance. 

Mere  Malheur's  arrival  at  Beaumanoir  was  speedily 
known  to   all  the   servants  of  the   chateau.     She  did  not 


I     '] 


460 


THE  cm  EX  noR. 


II 


often  visit  t1ie?ii,  but  when  she  did,  tlicrc  was  a  hurried 
recital  of  an  ave  or  two  to  avert  any  harm,  followed  by  a 
patroiiizin^j;  welcome  and  a  rumma<;e  for  small  coins  to 
cross  her  hand  withal,  in  return  for  her  solutions  of  the 
grave  questions  of  h)ve,  jealousy,  money,  and  marria<;e, 
which  fermented  secretly  or  openly  in  the  bosoms  of  all  of 
thenj.  They  were  but  human  beings,  footl  for  im|)f)sture, 
and  preyed  on  by  deceivers.  The  visit  of  Mere  Malheur 
was  an  event  of  interest  in  both  kitchen  and  laundry  of 
the  chateau. 

Dame  'i'remblay  had  the  first  claim,  however,  upon  this 
sini^ular  visitor.  She  met  her  at  the  back  door  of  the 
chateau,  and  with  a  face  beaming  with  smiles,  and,  drop- 
ping all  dignity,  exclaiined, — 

"  Mi-re  Malheur,  upon  my  life  !  Welcome,  you  wicked 
old  soul  I  you  surely  knew  I  wanted  to  see  you  !  come  in 
and  rest !  you  must  be  tired  unless  you  came  on  a  broom ! 
ha  !  ha  !  come  to  my  room  and  never  mind  anybody  !  " 

'J'his  last  remark  was  made  for  the  benefit  of  the 
servants  who  stood  peeping  at  every  door  and  corner  not 
daring  to  speak  to  the  old  woman  in  the  presenrc  of  the 
housekeeper  ;  but,  knowing  that  their  time  would  come, 
they  had  patience. 

'I'he  housekeeper,  giving  them  a  severe  fbok,  proceeded 
to  her  own  snug  appartment,  followed  by  the  crone,  whom 
she  seated  in  her  easiest  chair  and  proceeded  to  refresh 
with  a  glass  of  cognac,  which  was  swallowed  with  much 
relish  and  wiping  of  lips,  accompanied  by  a  little  artificial 
couiih.  Dame  Tremblav  keiU  a  carafe  of  it  in  her  room  to 
raise  the  temperature  of  her  low  spirits  and  vapors  to 
summer  heat ;  not  that  she  drank,  far  from  it,  but  she  liked 
to  sip  a  little  for  her  stomach's  sake. 

'*  It  is  only  a  thimbleful  I  take  now  and  then,"  she 
said.  ''  When  I  was  the  charming  Josephine,  1  used  to 
kiss  the  cups  I  presented  to  the  young  gallants  and  I  took 
no  more  than  a  Hy !  but  they  always  drank  bumpers  from 
the  cup  1  kissed  !  "  The  old  Dame  looked  grave  as  she 
shook  her  head  and  remarked  :  "  But  we  cannot  be  always 
young  and  handsome,  can  we  Mere  Malheur?" 

"  No,  I3ame,  but  we  can  be  jolly  and  fat,  and  that  is 
what  we  are  !  You  don't  quaff  life  by  thimblefuls,  and  you 
only  want  a  stout  offer  to  show  the  world  that  you  can 
trip  as  briskly  to  church  yet,  as  any  girl  in  New  France  !  " 


MERE  MALHEUR. 


461 


The  Inimor  of  the  old  crone  convulsed  Dame  Trem- 
blaywith  liiuijjhtcr,  as  if  some  invisible  lingers  were  tick- 
ling her  wilclly  under  the  armpits. 

She  composed  herself  at  last,  and  drawing  her  chair 
close  to  that  of  Mere  Malheur,  looked  her  inquiringly  in 
the  face  and  asked,  "  what  is  the  news  ? " 

Dame  Tremblay  was  endowed  with  nifire  than  the 
ordinary  curiosity  of  her  sex.  She  knew  more  news  of 
city  and  country  than  any  one  else,  and  she  dispensed  it 
as  freely  as  she  gathered.  She  never  let  her  stock  of  gos- 
sip run  low,  and  never  allowed  man  or  woman  to  come  to 
speak  with  her  without  pumping  them  dry  of  all  they  knew  1 
A  secret  in  anybody's  possession  set  her  wild  to  possess  it, 
and  she  gave  no  rest  to  her  inordinate  curiosity  until  she 
had  fished  it  out  of  even  the  muddiest  waters. 

The  mystery  that  hung  round  Caroline  was  a  source  of 
perpetual  irritation  to  the  nerves  of  Dame  Tremblay.  She 
had  tried  as  far  as  she  dared  by  hint  and  suggestion  to 
draw  from  the  ladvsome  reference  to  her  name  and  familv, 
but  in  vain.  Caroline  would  avow  nothing,  and  D.uue 
Tremblay,  completely  baftled  by  a  faikire  of  ordinary  means 
to  fmd  out  the  secret,  bethought  herself  of  her  old  resource 
in  case  of  i3erj)lcxily,  Mi-re  Malheur. 

For  several  davs  she  had  been  brood! njj  over  this  mode 
of  satisfying  her  curiosity,  when  the  unexpected  visit  of 
Mere  Malheur,  set  aside  all  further  hesitation  about  dis- 
obeying the  Intendant's  orders,  not  to  inquire  or  allow  any 
other  person  to  make  inquisition  respecting  Caroline. 

"  Mere  Malheur  !  you  feel  comfortable  now  !  "  said  she. 
"That  glass  of  cognac  has  given  you  a  color  like  a 
peony !  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  comfortable  now,  Dame  !  your  cog- 
nac is  heavenly !  It  warms  without  burning.  That  glass 
is  the  best  news  I  have  to  tell  of  to-day  !  " 

''  Nay,  but  there  is  always  something  stirring  in  the 
city  ;  somebody  born,  married  or  dead,  somebody  courted, 
won,  lost  or  undone  I  somebody's  name  up,  somebody's 
reputation  dow^n !  Tell  me  all  you  know,  Mere  Malheur! 
and  then  I  will  tell  you  something  will  make  you  glad  you 
came  to  iieaumanoir  to  day.  Take  another  sip  of  cognac 
and  begin  ! " 

"  Aye,  Dame,  that  is  indeed  a  temptation  !  "  she  took 
two  deep  sips  and  holding  her  glass  in  her  hand,  began 


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23  WEST  M*IN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14S80 

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T//E  CHIEN  D'OR. 


with  loose  tongue  to  relate  the  current  gossip  of  the  city, 
which  although  already  known  to  Danie  Tremblay,  an  ill 
natured  version  of  it  from  the  lips  of  her  visitor  seemed  to 
give  it  a  fresh  seasoning  and  a  relish  which  it  had  not  pre- 
viously possessed. 

"Now,  Mi're  Malheur!  I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you," 
said  Dame  Tremblay,  in  a  low  confidential  tone,  "a  dead 
secret!  mind  you,  which  you  had  better  be  burnt  than 
reveal.  There  is  a  lady,  a  real  lady  if  I  ever  saw  one, 
living  in  the  Chateau  here,  in  the  greatest  privacy.  I  and 
the  Intendant  only  see  her.  She  is  beautiful  and  full  of 
sorrow  as  the  picture  of  the  blessed  Madonna.  What  she 
is,  I  may  guess  ;  but  who  she  is  I  cannot  conjecture,  and 
would  give  my  little  finger  to  know !  " 

"Tut,  Dame  !  "  replied  Mere  Malheur  with  a  touch  of 
confidence,  "  I  will  not  believe  any  woman  could  keep  a 
secret  from  you !  But  this  is  news  Indeed  ;  you  tell  me  1 
A  lady  in  concealment  here.''  and  you  say  you  cannot 
find  her  out  ?    Dame  Tremblay  !  " 

"  In  truth  I  cannot,  I  have  tried  every  artifice,  but  she 
passes  all  my  wit  and  skill.  If  she  were  a  man  I  would 
have  drawn  her  very  teeth  out  with  less  difficulty  than  I 
have  tried  to  extract  the  name  of  this  -lady.  When  I  was 
the  charming  Josephine  of  Lake  Reauport  I  could  wind 
men  like  a  thread  round  which  finger  I  liked,  but  this  is  a 
tangled  knot  which  drives  me  to  despair  to  unravel  it. 

"What  do  you  know  about  her,  Dame  "i  tell  me  all  you 
suspect!  "  said  More  Malheur. 

"Truly,"  replied  the  Dame,  without  the  least  asperity, 
"I  suspect  the  poor  thing,  like  the  rest  of  us,  is  no  better 
than  she  should  be ;  and  the  Intendant  knows  it  and  Mad- 
emoiselle de  Meloises  knows  it,  too,  and  to  judge  by  her 
constant  prayers  and  penitence,  she  knows  it  herself,  but 
too  well  and  will  not  say  it  to  me  !  " 

"  Aye,  Dame  !  but  this  is  great  news  you  tell  me  !  " 
replied  Mere  Malheur,  eagerly  clutching  at  the  opportunity 
thus  offered  for  the  desired  interview.  "  But  what  help  do 
you  expect  from  me  in  the  matter  ,-*  "  Mere  Mniheur  looked 
very  expectant  at  her  friend,  who  -  ontinued :  "  I  want  you 
to  see  that  lady,  under  promise  of  secrecy,  mark  you !  and 
look  at  her  hands  and  tell  me  who  and  what  she  is." 

Dame  Tremblay  had  an  unlimited  faith  in  the  super- 
stitions of  her  age. 


MERE  MALHEUR. 


463 


"  I  will  do  all  vou  wish,  Daine,  but  vou  must  allow  me 
to  see  her  alone,"  replied  the  crone,  who  felt  she  was  thus 
opening  the  door  to  La  Corriveau. 

"  To  be  sure  I  will  !  that  is  if  she  will  consent  to  be 
seen,  for  she  has  in  some  things  a  spirit  of  her  own  !  I  am 
afraid  to  push  her  too  closely  !  'J'he  mystery  of  her  is 
taking  the  llesh  off  my  bones,  and  I  can  only  get  sleep  by 
taking  strong  possets,  Mc're  Malheur!  Feel  my  ell)()W  ! 
feel  my  knee  !  I  have  not  had  so  sharj)  an  elbow%  or  knee, 
since  Goodman  Tremblav  died  !  and  he  said  I  had  the 
sharpest  elbow  and  knee  in  the  city !  but  1  had  to  punch 
him  sometimes  to  keep  him  in  order !  But  set  that  horrid 
cap  straight  Mc-re  Malheur  !  while  I  go  ask  her  if  she 
would  like  to  have  her  fortune  told.  Siie  is  not  a  woman 
if  she  would  not  like  to  know  her  fortune,  for  she  is  in  de- 
spair, I  think,  with  all  the  world  ;  and  when  a  woman  is  in 
despair,  as  I  know  by  my  own  experience,  she  will  jump  at 
any  chance,  for  spite,  if  net  for  love,  as  I  did  when  1  look 
the  Sieur  Tremblay  by  your  advice.  Mere  Malheur !  " 

Dame  Tremblay  left  the  old  crone  making  hideous 
faces  in  a  mirror.  She  rubbed  her  cheeks  and  mouth  with 
the  corner  of  her  apron  as  she  proceeded  to  the  door  of 
Caroline's  apartment.  She  knocked  gently  and  a  low  soft 
voice  bade  her  enter. 

Caroline  was  seated  on  a  chair  by  the  window  knitting 
her  sad  thoughts  into  a  piece  of  work  which  she  occasion- 
ally lifted  from  her  lap  with  a  sudden  start  as  something 
broke  the  train  of  her  refiections. 

She  was  weighing  over  and  over  her  in  thoughts  like  gold 
in  a  scale,  by  grains  and  pennyweights,  a  few  kind  words 
lately  spoken  to  her  by  Uigot  when  he  ran  in  to  l)i(l  her 
adieu  before  dejjarting  on  his  journey  to  the.Trois  Rivieres. 
They  seemed  a  treasure  inexhaustible  as  she  kept  on  re- 
peating them  to  herself.  The  pressure  of  his  hand  had  been 
warmer,  the  tone  of  his  voice  softer,  the  glance  of  his  eye 
more  kind,  and  he  looked  pityingly,  she  thought,  upon  her 
wan  face,  when  he  left  her  in  the  gallery,  and  with  a  cheery 
voice  and  a  kiss,  bade  her  take  care  of  her  health,  and  win 
back  the  lost  roses  of  Acadia. 

These  words  passed  through  her  mind  with  unceasing 
repetition,  and  a  white  border  of  light  was  visible  on  the 
edge  of  the  dark  cloud  which  hung  over  her.     "  The  roses 


of  Acadia  will  never  bloom 


agam, 


thought   she,    sadly. 


464 


THE  CIIIEN  noR. 


m  i'M 


mn 


■J* 


Hi 

m 
m 

'A 

II 


S 


1 1  ^ ' 

?f  B-  ■ 

^^  9 ' 

II  S '      • 

A 


2 


**  I  have  watered  them  with  salt  tears  too  lonj;  and  all  in 
vain.  O,  Bigot,  I  fear  it  is  too  late,  too  late  !  '  Still  his 
last  look  and  last  words  reflected  a  faint  ray  of  hope  ai;d 
joy  upf)n  her  pallid  countenance. 

Dame  'I'rcMnhlay  entered  the  apartment  and  while  busy- 
ing herself  on  pretense  of  setting  it  in  order,  talked  in  her 
garrulous  way  of  the  little  incidents  of  daily  life  in  the 
chateau,  and  finished  by  a  mention,  as  if  it  were  casual,  of 
the  arrival  of  the  wise  woman  of  the  city,  who  knew  every- 
thing, who  could  interpret  dieams,  and  tell,  by  looking  in  a 
glass  or  in  your  hand,  things  past,  present  and  to  come. 

*' A  wonderful  woman,"  Dame  'I  remblay  said,  '"a  peril- 
ous woman,  too,  not  safe  to  deal  with,  but  for  all  that  every 
one  runs  after  her,  and  she  has  a  good  or  bad  word  for 
every  person  who  consults  her.  For  my  part,"  continued 
the  dame,  "  she  foretold  my  marriage  witli  the  Goodman 
Tremblay  long  before  it  happened,  and,  she  also  foretold 
iiis  death  to  the  very  month  it  happened.  So  I  have  reason 
to  b(;lieve  in  her  as  well  as  to  be  thankful  !  " 

Caroline  listened  attentively  to  the  dame's  remarks. 
She  was  not  superstitious,  but  yet  not  above  the  beliefs 
of  her  age,  while  the  Indian  strain  in  her  lineage  and  her 
familiarity  with  the  traditions  of  the  Abenaquais  inclined 
her  to  yield  more  than  ordinary  respect  to  dreams. 

Caroline  had  dreamed  of  riding  on  a  coal  black  horse, 
seaterl  beliind  the  veiled  figure  of  a  man,  whose  face  she 
could  not  see,  who  carried  her  like  the  wind  away  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth,  and  there  shut  her  u|5  in  a  mountain  for 
ages  and  ages,  until  a  bright  angel  cleft  the  rock  and  clasp- 
ing her  in  his  arms  bore  her  up  to  light  and  liberty  in  the 
presence  of  the  Redeemer  and  of  all  the  host  of  heaven. 

This  dream  lav  heavv  on  her  mind.  For  the  veiled 
figure  she  knew  was  one  she  loved,  but  who  had  no  honest 
love  for  her.  Her  mind  had  been  brooding  over  the  dream 
all  day,  and  the  announcement  by  Dame  Tremblay  of  the 
presence  in  the  chateau  of  one  who  was  able  to  interpret 
dreams,  seemed  a  stroke  of  fortune,  if  not  an  act  of  provi- 
dence. 

She  roused  herself  up,  and  with  more  animation  than 

Dame  Tremblay  had  yet  seen  in  her  countenance,  requested 

her  to  send  u])  the  visitor  that  she  might  ask  her  a  question. 

Mere  Malheur  was  quickly  sunnnoned  to  the  apartment 

of  Caroline,  where  Dame  Tremblay  left  them  alone. 


MERE  MALHEUR. 


465 


The  repulsive  look  of  the  old  crone  sent  a  shock  through 
the  fine  nervous  or<;anization  of  the  young  girl.  She  re- 
quested Mere  Mallieur  to  be  seated,  however,  and  in  her 
gentle  manniT  questioned  her  about  the  dream. 

M^re  Malheur  was  an  adept  in  sucii  things,  and  knew 
well  how  to  humor  human  nature,  and  lead  it  to  put  its 
own  interpretations  upon  its  own  visions  and  desires  while 
giving  all  the  credit  of  it  to  herself. 

Mere  Malheur  therefore  interpreted  the  dream  accord- 
ing to  Caroline's  secret  wishes.  This  inspired  a  sort  of 
confidence  ;  a. id  Mere  Malheur  seized  the  opportunity  to 
deliver  the  letter  from  La  Corriveau. 

"  My  lady,"  said  she,  looking  carefully  round  the  room 
to  note  if  the  door  was  shut  and  no  one  was  present,  "  I 
can  tell  you  more  than  the  interpretation  of  your  dream. 
I  can  tell  who  you  are  and  why  you  are  here  !  " 

Caroline  started  with  a  frightened  look,  .:kI  stared  in 
the  face  of  Mere  Malheur.  SIv*  faltered  out  at  length  : 
"  You  know  who  I  am  and  why  I  am  here?  Impossible  I 
I  never  saw  you  before." 

"  No,  my  lady,  you  never  saw  me  before,  but  I  will 
convince  you  that  I  know  you.  You  are  the  daughter  of 
the  Baron  de  St.  Castin  !  Is  it  not  so  ?  ''  The  old  crone 
looked  frightfully  knowing  as  she  uttered  these  words. 

"  Mother  of  mercies!  what  shall  I  do?"  ejaculated 
the  alarmed  girl,  "  Who  are  you  to  say  that  ?  " 

"  I  am  but  a  messenger,  my  lady.  Listen  !  I  am  sent 
here  to  give  you  secretly  this  letter  from  a  friend  who 
knows  you  better  than  I,  and  who  above  all  things  desires 
an  interview  with  you,  as  she  has  things  of  the  deepest 
import  to  communicate." 

"  A  letter  !  O  what  mystery  is  all  this  ?  A  letter  for 
me  !     Is  it  from  the  Intendant?  " 

"  No,  my  lady,  it  is  from  a  woman."  Caroline  blushed 
and  trembled  as  she  took  it  from  the  old  crone. 

A  woman  !  It  Hashed  uj^on  the  mind  of  Caroline  that 
the  letter  was  important.  She  opened  it  with  trembling 
fingers,  anticipating  she  knew  not  what  direful  tidings 
when  her  eyes  ran  over  the  clear  handwriting. 

La  Corriveau  had  written  to  the  effect  that  she  was  an 
unknown  friend,  desirous  of  serving  her  in  a  moment  of 
peril.  The  Baron  de  St.  Castin  had  traced  her  to  New 
France,  and  had  procured  from  the  king  instructions  to  the 

^o 


466 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


hi>' 


I 


Governor  Xo  search  for  her  ever}^\vhcre,  and  to  send  her  to 
France.  Other  thinci^s  of  jjreal  impoit,  the  writer  said,  she 
had  also  to  communicate,  if  Caroline  would  grant  her  a  pri- 
vate interview  in  the  chateau. 

*' There  was  a  passage  leading  from  the  old  deserted 
watch  tower  to  the  vaulted  chamber,"  continued  the  letter, 
"and the  writer  would  without  further  notice  come  on  the 
following  night  to  IJeaumanoir,  and  knock  at  the  arched  door 
of  her  chamber  about  the  hour  of  midnight,  when,  if  Caroline 
pleased  to  admit  her,  she  would  gladly  inform  her  of  very 
important  matters  relating  to  herself,  to  the  Intendant,  and 
to  the  Jiaron  tie  8t,  Castin,  who  was  on  his  way  out  to  the 
colony  to  conduct  in  jDcrson  the  search  after  his  lost 
daughter." 

The  letter  concluded  with  the  information  "  that  the 
Intendant  had  gone  to  the  Trois  Rivieres  whence  he  might 
not  return  for  a  week,  and  that  during  his  absence  the 
Governor  would  probably  order  a  search  for  her  to  be 
made  at  Beaumanoir." 

Caroline  held  the  letter  convulsively  in  her  hand  as 
she  gathered  its  purport  rather  than  read  it.  Her  face 
changed  color  from  a  deep  flush  of  shame  to  the  palest 
hue  of  fear,  when  she  comprehended  its  meaning  and  un- 
derstood that  her  father  was  on  his  way  to  New  France  to 
find  out  her  hiding  place. 

"What  shall  I  do!  O,  what  shall  I  do!"  exclaimed 
she,  wringing  her  hands  for  very  anguish,  regardless  of  the 
presence  of  Mere  Malheur,  who  stood  observing  her  with 
eyes  glittering  with  curiosity,  but  void  of  every  mark  of 
womanly  sympathy  or  feeling. 

**  My  father,  my  loving  father!"  continued  Caroline, 
"my  deeply  injured  father,  coming  here  with  anger  in  his 
face  to  drag  me  from  my  concealment !  I  shall  drop  dead 
at  his  feet  for  very  shame.  O  that  I  were  buried  alive  with 
mountains  piled  over  me  to  hide  me  from  mv  father  1 
What  shall  I  do?  Whither  shall  I  go?'  Bigot.  Bigot,  why 
have  you  forsaken  me  ?  " 

Mere  Malheur  continued  eyeing  her  with  cold  curiositv, 
but  was  ready  at  the  first  moment  to  second  the  prompt- 
ings of  the  evil  spirit  contained  in  the  letter. 

"  Mademoiselle."  said  she,  "  there  is  but  one  way  to 
escape  from  the  search  to  be  made  by  your  father  and  the 
Governor — take  counsel  of  her  who  sends  you  that  friendly 


MERE  MALHEUR. 


467 


II 


t 


I 


letter.  Slie  can  offer  you  a  safe  hiding;  place  until  the 
storm  blows  over.     Will  \ou  see  her,  my  huly  ?  " 

"  See  her  1  I,  who  dare  see  no  one  I  Who  is  she  that 
sends  me  such  strange  news  ?  Is  it  truth  ?  Do  you  know 
her  ?  "  continued  she,  looking  fixedly  at  Mere  Malheur,  as 
if  in  hope  of  reading  on  her  countenance  some  contradic- 
tion of  the  matter  contained  in  the  letter. 

"I  think  it  is  all  true,  my  lady,"  replied  she  with  mock 
humility,  "  I  am  but  a  poor  messenger,  however,  and  speak 
not  myself  of  things  I  do  not  know,  but  she  who  sends  me 
will  te'U  you  all." 

*'  Does  the  Intend  ant  know  her  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  told  her  to  watch  over  your  safety  during 
his  absence.  She  is  old  and  your  friend  ;  will  you  see 
her?"  replied  Mere  Malheur,  who  saw  the  point  was 
gained. 

"  O  yes,  yes !  tell  her  to  come.  Beseech  her  not  to  fail  to 
come,  or  I  shall  go  mad.  O  woman  !  you  too  are  old  and 
experienced  and  ought  to  know  ;  can  she  help  me  in  this 
strait,  think  you?"  exclaimed  Caroline,  clasping  her  hands 
in  a  gesture  of  entreaty. 

"  No  one  is  more  able  to  help  you,"  said  the  crone, 
"  she  can  counsel  you  what  to  do,  and  if  need  be,  find 
means  to  conceal  you  from  the  search  that  will  be  made 
for  you." 

"  Haste,  then,  and  bid  her  come  to-morrow  night  ! 
Why  not  to-night  ?  "  Caroline  was  all  nervous  impatience. 
"  I  will  wait  her  coming  in  the  vaulted  chamber  ;  I  will 
watch  for  her  as  one  in  the  valley  of  death  watches  for  the 
angel  of  deliverance.  Rid  her  come,  and  at  midnight  to- 
morrow she  shall  find  the  door  of  the  secret  chamber  open 
to  admit  her." 

The  eagerness  of  the  ill-fated  girl  to  see  La  Corriveau 
outran  every  calculation  of  Mere  Malheur.  It  was  in 
vain  and  useless  for  her  to  speak  further  on  the  subject ; 
Caroline  would  say  no  more.  Her  thoughts  ran  violently 
in  the  direction  suirgested  bv  the  artful  letter.  "  She 
would  see  La  Corriveau  to-morrow  night  and  would  make 
no  more  avowals  to  Mere  Malheur,"  she  said  to  herself. 

Seeing  no  more  was  to  be  got  out  of  her,  the  crone 
bade  her  a  formal  farewell,  looking  at  her  curiously  as  she 
did  so,  and  wondering  in  her  mind  if  she  should  ever  see 
her  again.     For  the  old  creature  had   a  shrewd  suspicion 


w  f  J 


468 


THE  CIIIEN  nOR, 


that  La  Corriveau  had  not  told  her  all  her  intentions  with 
respect  to  this  sin<j;ular  ^\\\. 

Caroline  returned  her  salute  still  holding  the  letter  in 
her  hand.  She  sat  down  to  peruse  it  again,  and  observed 
not  Mere  Malheur's  equivocal  glance  as  she  turned  her 
eyes  for  the  last  time  upon  the  innocent  girl,  doomed  to 
receive  the  midniiiht  visit  from  La  Corriveau. 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 


OUTVENOMS  ALL  THE  WORMS   OF    NILE. 


lUi '' 


i 


"  There  is  death  in  the  pot !  "  the"  crone  muttered  as 
she  went  out — "  La  Corriveau  comes  not  here  on  her  own 
errand  either  !  That  girl  is  too  beautiful  to  live  and  to 
some  one  her  death  is  worth  gold  !  It  will  go  hard,  but  La 
Corriveau  shall  share  with  me  the  reward  of  the  work  of 
to-morrow  night !  " 

In  the  long  gallery  she  encountered  Dame  Tremblay 
"  ready  to  eat  her  up,"  as  she  told  La  Corriveau  afterwards, 
in  the  eagerness  of  her  curiosity  to  learn  the  result  of  her 
interview  with  Caroline. 

Mere  Malheur  was  wary  and  accustomed  to  fence  with 
words.  It  was  necessary  to  tell  a  long  tale  of  circumstances 
to  Dame  Tremblay  but  not  necessary  nor  desirable  to  tell 
the  truth.  The  old  crone,  therefore,  as  soon  as  she  had 
seated  herself  in  the  easy  chair  of  the  housekeeper  and 
refreshed  herself  by  twice  accepting  the  dame's  pressing 
invitation  to  tea  and  cognac,  related,  with  uplifted  hands 
and  shaking  head,  a  narrative  of  bold  lies  regarding  what 
had  really  past  during  her  interview  with  Caroline. 

"But  who  is  she,  Mere  Malheur!  Did  she  tell  you  her 
name?  Did  she  show  you  her  palm  ?  " 

"  Both  !  Dame,  both !  She  is  a  girl  of  Ville  Marie  who 
has  run  away  from  her  parents  for  love  of  the  gallant 
Intendant  and  is  in  hiding  from  them.  They  wanted  to 
put  her  into  the  convent  to  cure  her  of  love.  The  convent 
always  cures  love,  dame,  beyond  the  power  of  philters  to 
revive  it !  "  and  the  old  crone  laughed  inwardly  to  herself 
as  if  she  doubted  her  own  saying. 


OUTVENOMS  ALL  THE  WORMS  OF  NILE. 


469 


, 


to 

:lf 


Dame  Tremblay  dissented  heartily  from  this  opinion. 

"It  would  not  have  cured  me,  when  I  was  thecharniinfij 
Josephine  of  Lake  IJeauport,"  said  she  ,  "  they  once  talked  of 
sending  vie  to  the  convent  !  ]}ut  law  !  all  the  young  gentle- 
men in  the  city  would  have  filled  the  parlor  to  see  me  on 
every  visiting-day.  There  is  nothing  they  admire  so  much 
as  a  pretty  nun,  Mere  Malheur!  lUit  you  have  not  told 
me  all  al)out  my  lady.  Wiiat  did  she  say?  Does  she  expect 
the  Intendant  to  marry  her .''  Is  she  to  be  mistress  and  all 
of  the  Chateau  ?  " 

"  She  is  the  mif^tressof  the  Chateau  now,  dame  !  "  rei)lied 
Mbre  Malheur.  '*  The  Intendant  will  refuse  her  nothing  and 
I  believe  he  will  marry  her !  There,  that  is  all  I  know." 

"No,  you  know  more  !  Did  she  not  tell  you  how  jealous 
she  was  of  that  bold  faced  Ange'Iique  des  Meloises,  who, 
they  say,  is  resolved  to  marry  the  Intendant  whether  he 
will  or  no  ?  " 

"  No  !  she  mentioned  not  her  name  ;  but  she  loves  the 
Intendant  and  fears  every  woman  as  a  rival — and  with 
reason  I  "  chuckled  Mere  Malheur. 

"  Aye  !  does  she  not  I  "  replied  Dame  Tremblay.  "  She 
fears  Angelique  des  Meloises  more  than  poison  !  but  she 
would  not,  of  course,  tell  you  as  she  tells  me.  But  did  she 
not  tell  you  her  name,  Mere  Malheur?  " 

"  No  !  Girls  of  that  kind  and  in  her  condition  have 
generally  lost  their  name  without  finding  another  !  "  said 
the  old  crone  with  a  mocking  laugh. 

"  Well,  I  cannot  laugh  at  her  I  "  replied  Dame  Tremblay 
kindly.  "  If  her  good  name  is  gone,  it  was  for  love,  not  for 
hate  !  It  is  only  your  women  without  hearts  who  laugh  at 
us  who  have  them.  If  all  the  world  laugh  at  her,  I  will 
not.  She  is  a  dear  angel,  and  1  love  her !  When  I  was  the 
charming  Josephine — " 

"  Aye  !  we  were  all  dear  angels  some  time  or  other,  dame ! 
and  the  world  is  full  of  fallen  ones  !  " — interupted  the  crone 
with  a  leer,  as  if  some  far-off  reminiscence  revisited  her 
fancy. 

"When  I  was  the  charming  Josephine  of  Lake  Beau- 
port,  I  was  going  to  say,  but  you  always  interrupt  me, 
Mere  Malheur  !  No  one  could  say  black  was  my  nail  or 
if  they  did,  they  lied  !  "  exclaimed  the  dame  with  a  little 
heat — but  presently  reflecting  that  Mere  Malheur  had 
received  all  her  tender  confessions  and  knew  all  her  secrets 


Li 


470 


T/i:E  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


conrorninpj  more  limn  a  score  of  aclmircrs,  she  burst  out 
l;ui^liin<;,  and  jiourin^out  the  ohi  crcMic  another  nip,  bade 
her  "  <;()  down  stairs  and  toll  the  fortunes  of  the  idle  girls  ia 
tlie  kitchen,  wlio  were  not  putting  a  hand  to  a  single  thing 
in  the  house,  until  she  settled  their  curiosity  about  the  worth- 
less nicn,  who  filled  their  heads  and  caused  them  to  empty 
their  pockets  of  their  last  coin  to  bestow  it  on  ribbons,  combs 
and  fortune-tellers  !  Such  ridiculous  things  are  girls  now-a- 
days  with  their  high  heels  and  jiaint  and  patches  that  one 
cannot  tell  the  niistri-ss  from  the  maid  any  more  !  When 
I  was  the  charming  Josephine — " 

Mere  Malheur  cut  short  the  impending  story,  bygetting 
up  and  going  at  once  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  did  not 
dally  long  with  the  girls,  "but  fed  them  with  big  spoonfuls 
of  good  fortune,"  she  said,  "and  sent  them  to  bed  happy 
as  expectant  brides,  that  night !  " 

The  crone,  eager  to  return  to  La  Corriveau  with  the 
account  of  her  successful  interview  with  Caroline,  bade 
Dame  Tremblay  a  hasty  but  formal  farewell  and,  with  her 
crutched  stick  in  her  hand,  trudged  stoutly  back  to  the 
city. 

Mere  Malheur,  while  the  sun  was  yet  high,  reached  her 
cottage  under  the  rock  where  La  Corriveau  was  eagerly 
expecting  her  at  the  window.  The  moment  she  entered, 
the  masculine  voice  of  La  Corriveau  was  heard  asking 
loudly  : 

"  Have  you  seen  her.  Mere  Malheur?  Did  you  give  her 
the  letter?  Never  mind  your  hat!  tell  me  before  you  take 
it  off !  "  The  old  crone  was  tugging  at  the  strings  and  La 
Corriveau  came  to  help  her. 

"Yes!  she  took  your  letter,"  replied  she,  impatiently. 
"  She  took  my  story  like  spring  water.  Go  at  the  stroke  of 
twelve  to-morrow  night  and  she  will  let  you  in.  Dame  Dodier  1 
but  will  she  let  you  out  again  ?  eh  !  "  The  crone  stood 
with  her  hat  in  her  hand — and  looked,  with  a  wicked  glance, 
at  La  Corriveau. 

"  If  she  will  let  me  in,  I  shall  let  myself  out.  Mere  Mal- 
heur," replied  Corriveau  in  a  low  tone.  "  But  why  do  you 
ask  that  ?  " 

"  Because  I  read  mischief  in  your  eye,  and  see  it  twitch- 
ing in  your  thumb,  and  you  do  not  ask  me  to  share 
your  secret !  Is  it  so  bad  as  that.  Dame  Dodier  ?  " 

"  Pshaw  !  you  are  sharing  it !  wait  and  you  will  see 


\ 


■\ 


OUTVENOMS  ALL  THE  WORMS  OF  NILE. 


471 


your  share  of  it !  But  tell  mo,  Mrrc  Arnlhour,  how  does 
she  look,  this  mysterious  lady  of  the  ('halcau  ?  "  La  Cor- 
riveau  sat  dowu  and  j)lace(l  her  lon;^  thin  hand  on  the  arm 
of  tiie  old  croue. 

"  Like  one  doomed  to  die,  because  she  is  too  good 
to  live.  Sorrow  is  a  had  pasture  for  a  young  creature  like 
her  to  feed  on,  Dame  Dodicr !  "  was  the  answer,  but  it  did 
not  change  a  muscle  on  the  face  of  La  ('orriveau. 

"  Aye !  hut  there  are  worse  pastures  than  sorrow  for 
young  creatures  like  her,  and  she  has  found  one  of  iheni," 
she  replied  coldly. 

'*  Well  ]  as  we  make  our  bed  so  must  we  lie  on  it, 
DameDodier!  that  is  what  I  always  tell  the  young  silly 
things  who  come  to  me  asking  their  fortunes  ;  and  the  pro- 
verb pleases  them.  They  always  think  the  bridal  bed  must 
be  soft  and  well  made,  at  any  rate." 

"  They  are  fools!  better  make  their  death  bed  than 
their  bridal  bed  ]  IJut  I  must  see  this  piece  of  perfection 
of  yours  to-morrow  night,  dame!  The  Intendant  returns 
in  two  days  and  he  might  remove  her.  Did  she  tell  you 
about  him  ?  " 

"  No !  Bigot  is  a  devil  more  powerful  than  the  one  we 
serve,  dame.     I  fear  him  I  " 

"Tut!  I  fear  neither  devil  nor  man.  It  waste  beat 
the  hour  of  twelve  !  Did  you  not  say  at  the  hour  of  twelve, 
Mere  ALilheur.>" 

"Yes!  go  in  by  the  vaulted  passage  and  knock  at  the 
secret  door.  She  will  admit  you.  But  what  will  you  do 
with  her,  1  'ame  Dodier.''  Is  she  doomed?  Could  you  not 
be  gentle  with  her,  dame  ?  " 

There  was  a  fall  in  the  voice  of  Mere  ALalheur — an 
intonation  partly  due  to  fear  of  consequences,  partly  to 
a  fibre  of  pity  which — dry  and  disused — something  in 
the  look  of  Caroline  had  stirred  like  a  dead  leaf  quivering 
in  the  wind. 

"  Tut !  has  she  melted  your  old  dry  heart  to  pity,  Mere 
Malheur  !  ha  !  ha  !  who  would  have  thought  that !  and  yet  I 
remember  she  made  a  soft  fool  of  me  for  a  minute,  in  the 
wood  of  St.Valier !  "  La  Corriveau  spoke  in  a  hard  tone  as  if, 
in  reproving  Mere  Malheur,  she  was  also  reproving  herself. 

"She  is  unlike  any  other  woman  I  ever  saw,"  replied 
the  crone,  ashamed  of  her  unwonted  sympathy.  "The 
devil  is  clean  out  of  her  as  he  is  out  of  a  church." 


1 


472 


rilE  CII/EAr  D'OR. 


I 


"You  arc  n  fool,  IMt-re  Malheur!  Out  of  a  church, 
quotha  !  "  and  La  (lorriv  'au  lauf^hccl  a  loud  \\\\^-\ ;  "  why  I 
p)  to  church  myself,  aud  whisper  my  prayers  backwards  to 
keep  oil  terms  with  the  devil,  who  stauds  noddiiij;  behind 
the  altar  to  every  one  of  my  petitions  !  'I'hat  is  more 
than  some  people  get  in  return  for  their  prayers,"  added 
she. 

"  I  pray  backwards  I'n  church  too,  Dame,  but  I  could 
never  get  sight  of  him  there,  as  you  do,  something  always 
blinds  me  !  "  and  the  two  old  sinners  laughed  together  at 
the  thought  of  the  devil's  litanies  they  recited  in  the  church. 

"  JUit  how  to  get  to  Jieaumanoir  ?  I  shall  have  to  walk, 
as  you  (lid,  Mere  Malheur.  It  is  a  vile  road,  and  I  must 
take  the  by-way  through  the  forest.  It  were  worth  my  life  to 
be  seen  on  this  \  isit,"  said  I.a  Corriveau,  conning  on  her 
fingers  the  difficulties  of  the  by-path,  which  she  was  well 
acquainted  with,  however. 

"  There  is  a  luoon  after  nine,  by  which  hour  you  can 
reach  the  wood  of  lieaumanoir,"  observed  the  crone. 
"  Are  you  sure  you  know  the  way.  Dame  Dodier  ?  " 

"  As  well  as  the  way  into  my  gown  !  I  kt^ow  an  Indian 
Canotier  who  will  ferry  me  across  tj  Beauport,  and  say 
nothing.  I  dare  not  allow  that  piying  knave,  Jean  le 
Nocher,  or  his  sharp  wife,  to  mark  my  movements." 

"Well  thou'dit  of.  Dame  Dodier,  you  are  of  a  craft  and 
subtlety  to  cheat  Satan  himself  at  a  game  of  hide  and 
seek ! "  The  crone  looked  with  genuine  admiration, 
almost  worship,  at  La  Corriveau  as  she  said  this,  "  but  I 
doubt  he  will  find  both  of  us  at  last,  Dame,  when  we  have 
got  into  our  last  corner." 

"  Well,  Vogue  la  Galcrc! "  exclaimed  La  Corriveau, 
starting  up.  "  Ix't  it  ^o  as  it  will  !  1  shall  walk  to  Beau- 
nuinoir,  and  I  shall  fancy  I  wear  golden  garters  and  silver 
slippers  to  make  the  way  easy  and  pleasant.  But  you  must 
be  hungry.  Mere,  with  your  long  tramp.  I  have  a  supper 
prepared  for  you,  so  come  and  eat  in  the  Devil's  name,  or 
I  shall  be  tempted  to  say  grace,  in  Nomine  Domini^  and 
choke  you." 

The  two  women  went  to  a  small  table  and  sat  down 
to  a  plentiful  meal  of  such  things  as  formed  the  dainties 
of  persons  of  their  rank  of  life.  Upon  the  table  stood  the 
dish  of  sweetmeats  which  the  thievish  maid  servant  had 
brought  to  Mere    Malheur  with  the  groom's  story  of  the 


\ 


1 


OUTVENO.%fS  ALL  VfE  WORMS  OF  XILE.        473 

conversation  between  Hi^jot  and  V.trin,  a  story  which 
could  .\n^cli(|Uc  have  {jjot  hoh!  of  it,  would  have  stopped 
at  once  her  frij;htful  plot  to  kill  the  unhappy  Caroline. 

*'  I  were  a  fool  to  tell  her  that  story  of  the  ;:;rooin's," 
muttered  La  Corrivcau  to  herself,  "and  spoil  tlie  fairest 
experiuKiU  of  the  Ai/Uii  Toftvui  ever  made,  and  ruin  my 
own  fortune,  too  1  I  know  a  trick  worth  two  of  that,"  and 
she  lauj^hed  inwardly  to  herself,  a  laujj;h  which  was 
repeated  in  Hell  and  made  merry  the  ghosts  of  lieatrice 
Spara,  Kxil;  and  La  Voisin. 

A  bottle  of  brandy  st(;od  between  La  Corriveau  and 
Mere  Malheur,  which  <jave  zest  to  their  repast,  and  they 
sat  lon<:;  exchan;;inj;  vile  thou<;hts  in  viler  lanjjua^e,  min- 
gled with  ridicule,  detraction  and  scandal  of  all  their 
dupes  and   betters. 

All  next  day  La  Corriveau  kept  closely  to  the  house, 
but  she  found  means  to  communicate  to  Angel ique,  her 
intention  to  visit  Heaumanoir  that  night. 

The  news  was  grateful,  yet  strangely  moving  to  Angdl- 
ique  ;  she  trembled  and  turned  pale,  not  for  ruth  but  for 
doubt  and  dread  of  possible  failure  or  discovery. 

.She  sent  bv  an  unknown  lumd  to  the  house  of  Mere 
Malheur,  a  little  basket  containing  a  bouc|uet  of  roses  so 
beautiful  and  fragrant  that  they  might  ha\e  been  plucked 
in  the  garden  of  Eden. 

Angelique  loved  flowers,  but  her  hands  shook  with  a 
palsy  of  apprehension  and  an  innate  feeling  of  rejnignance 
as  she  reflected  on  the  purpose  for  which  her  beautiful 
roses  were  given.  She  only  recovered  her  composure 
after  throwing  herself  on  a  sofa  and  plunging  headlong 
into  the  day  dreams  which  no»v  made  up  the  sum  of  her 
existence. 

La  Corriveau  carried  the  basket  into  an  inner  chamber, 
a  small  room,  the  window  of  wliich  never  saw  the  sun,  but 
opened  against  the  close  overhatiging  rock,  which  was  so 
near  that  it  might  be  touched  with  the  hand.  The  dark 
damp  wall  of  the  cliff  shed  a  gloomy  obscurity  in  the  room 
even  at  niiddav. 

The  small  black  eves  of  La  Corriveau  glittered  like 
poniards  as  she  opened  the  basket,  and  taking  out  the 
bouquet  found  attaclied  to  it  by  a  ribbon,  a  silken  purse, 
containing  a  number  of  glittering  pieces  of  gold.  She 
pressed  the  coins  to  her  cheek,  and  even  put  them  between 


m 


!       I 


i| 


:ri 


^      !| 


I 


474 


77/A'  CirmN  D'OR. 


her  lips,  to  taste  their  sweetness,  for  money  she  loved 
beyniul  ail  thinj^s.  'J'iie  passion  of  her  soul  was  avarice  ; 
her  wickedness  took  its  direction  from  the  love  of  money, 
and  scrupled  at  no  iniquity  for  the  sake  of  it. 

She  placed  the  jjurse  carefully  in  her  bosom,  and  took 
up  the  roses,  rei^ardinj^  them  witli  a  strani^e  lot)k  of  admi- 
ration, as  she  muttered  :  "They  are  beautiful,  and  they  are 
sweet!  men  would  call  them  innocent!  they  are  like  her 
who  sent  them,  fair  without  as  yet ;  like  her  who  is  to 
receive  them,  fair  witiiin."  Slie  stood  reflecting  for  a  few 
moments  and  exclaimed  as  she  laid  the  bouquet  upon  th'^ 
table  : 

"  Angel ique  des  Meloises,  you  send  your  gold  and 
your  roses  to  me  because  you  believe  me  to  be  a  worse 
demon  than  yourself,  but  you  are  worthy  to  be  crowned 
to-night  with  ihese  roses  as  Queen  of  Hell,  and  mistress 
of  all  the  witches  that  ever  met  ni  Grand  Sabbat,  at  the 
palace  of  Galienne,  where  Satan  sits  on  a  throne  of 
gold  !  " 

La  Corriveau  looked  out  of  the  window  and  saw  a  cor- 
ner of  the  rock  lit  up  with  the  last  ray  of  the  setting  r.un. 
She  knew  it  was  time  to  prepare  for  her  journe;  She 
loosened  her  long  black  and  grey  elfin  locks,  and  let  them 
fall  dishevelled  over  her  shoulders.  Her  thin  cruel  lips 
were  drawn  to  a  rigid  line,  and  her  eyes  were  tilled  with 
red  fire,  as  she  drew  the  casket  of  ebony  out  of  her  bosom 
and  o]5ened  it  with  a  reverential  touch,  as  a  devotee  would 
touch  a  shrine  of  relics.  She  took  out  of  it  a  small  gilded 
vial  of  antique  shape,  containing  a  clear  bright  liquid, 
which,  as  she  shook  it  up,  seemed  tilled  with  a  million 
sparks  of  lire. 

Before  drawing  the  glass  stopper  of  the  vial,  La  Cor- 
riveau folded  a  handkerchief  carefully  over  her  mouth  and 
nostrils,  to  avoid  inhaling  the  volatile  essence  of  its 
poisonous  contents.  Then,  holding  the  bouquet  with  one 
hand  at  arms  length,  she  sprinkled  the  glowing  roses  with 
the  transparent  liquitl  from  the  vial  which  she  held  in  the 
other  hand,  repeating,  in  a  low  harsh  tone,  the  formula  of 
an  ancient  incantation,  which  was  one  of  the  secrets 
imparted  to  Antonio  Exili  by  the  terrible  Beatrice  Spara. 

La  Corriveau  repeated  by  rote,  as  she  had  learned  from 
her  mother,  the  ill-omenetl  words,  hardly  knowing  their 
meaning,  beyond  that  they  were  something  very  potent,  and 


QUOTH  THE  RAVEN:  '' NEVERMORE  r' 


475 


very  wicked,  which  had  been  handed  down  through 
generations  of  poisoners  and  witches  from  the  times  of 
heathen  Rome  : 

"  Hccaten  Voco ! 
Voco  Tisi|)hoiicn\ ! 

Spaif^cns  avcrnalcs  aquas, 
Te  morli  dcvovco,  Te  diris  ago  I  " 

The  terrible  drops  of  the  Aqua  Tofana  glittered  like 
dew  on  t'ie  jrlowinji  Howers,  taking  awav  in  a  moment  all 
their  fragrance,  while  leaving  all  their  beauty  unimpaired. 
The  poison  sank  into  the  very  hearts  of  the  roses  whence 
it  breathed  death  from  every  petal  and  every  leaf,  le;;ving 
them  fair  as  she  who  had  sent  them,  but  fatal  to  the 
approach  of  lip  or  nostril,  fit  emblems  of  her  unpitying 
hate  and  remorseless  jealousy. 

La  Corriveau  wrapped  the  bouquet  in  a  medicated 
paper  of  silver  tissue,  which  prevented  the  escape  of  the 
volatile  death,  and  replacing  the  roses  carefully  in  the 
basket,  prepared  for  her  departure  to  13eaumanoir. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


QUOTH  THE  RAVEN  :  "  NEVERMORE  1 " 

It  wms  the  eve  of  St.  Michael.  A  quiet  autumnal  night 
brooded  over  the  forest  of  lieaumanoir.  The  moon  in 
her  wane  had  risen  late  and  struggled  feebly  among  the 
broken  clouds  that  were  gathering  slowly  in  the  east,  indica- 
tive of  a  storm.  She  shed  a  dim  light  through  the  glades 
and  thickets  just  enough  to  discover  a  path  where  the 
dark  figure  of  a  woman  made  her  way  swiftly  and  cautious- 
ly towards  the  Chateau  of  the  Intendant. 

She  was  dressed  in  the  ordinary  costume  of  a  peasant 
woman  and  carried  a  small  basket  on  her  arm,  which,  had 
she  opened  it,  wouid  have  been  found  to  contain  a  candle 
and  a  bouquet  of  fresh  roses,  carefully  covered  with  a  pa- 
per of  silver  tissue,  nothing  more — an  honest  peasant 
woman  would  have  had  a  rosary  in  lier  basket,  but  this  was 
no  honest  peasant  woman  and  she  had  none. 


476 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


The  forest  was  very  still,  it  was  steeped  in  quietness. 
The  rustling  of  *he  dry  leaves  under  the  feet  of  the  woman 
■was  all  she  heard  except  when  the  low  sighing  of  the  wind, 
the  sharj)  bark  of  a  fox,  or  the  shriek  of  an  owl  broke  the 
silence  for  a  moment,  and  all  was  again  still. 

The  woman  looked  watchfully  round  as  she  glided  on- 
wards. The  path  was  known  to  her,  but  not  so  familiarly 
as  to  prevent  the  necessity  of  stopping  every  few  minutes 
to  look  about  her  and  make  sure  she  was  ri<rht. 

It  was  long  since  she  had  travelled  that  way,  and  she 
was  looking  for  a  land-mark,  a  grey  stone  that  stood  some- 
where not  far  from  where  she  was,  and  near  which  she 
knew  that  there  was  a  footpath  that  led  not  directly  to  the 
Chateau  but  to  the  old  deserted  watchtowerof  Beaumanoir. 

'I'hat  stone  marked  a  spot  not  to  be  forgotten  by  her, 
for  it  was  the  memorial  of  a  deed  of  wickedness  now  only 
remembered  by  herself  and  by  God.  La  Corriveau  cared 
nothing  for  the  recollection.  It  was  not  terrible  to  her, 
and  God  made  no  sign  ;  but  in  his  great  book  of  account, 
of  which  the  life  of  every  man  and  woman  forms  a  page, 
it  was  written  down  and  remembered. 

On  the  secret  tablets  of  our  memory  which  is  the  book 
of  our  life,  every  thought,  word  and  deed,  good  or  evil,  is 
written  down,  indelibly  and  for  ever!  and  the  invisible  pen 
goes  on  writing  day  after  day,  hour  after  hour,  minute  after 
minute,  every  thought  even  the  idlest,  every  fancy  the  most 
evanescent,  nothing  is  left  out  of  our  book  of  life  which 
will  be  our  record  in  judgment !  When  that  book  is  opened 
and  no  secrets  are  hid,  what  son  or  daughter  of  Adam  is 
there  who  will  not  need  to  say  ?  ''  God  be  merciful !  " 

La  Corriveau  came  suddenly  upon  the  grey  stone.  It 
startled  her,  for  its  rude  contour  standing  up  in  the  pale 
moonlight,  put  on  the  appearance  of  a  woman.  She 
thought  she  was  discovered,  and  she  heard  a  noise ;  but 
another  glan'^e  renssured  her.  She  recognized  the  stone, 
and  the  noise  she  had  heard  was  only  the  scurringof  a  hare 
among  the  dry  leaves. 

The  liabitans  held  this  spot  to  be  haunted  by  the  wail- 
ing spirit  of  a  woman  in  a  grey  robe,  who  had  been  poison- 
ed by  a  jealous  lover.  La  Corriveau  gave  him  sweetmeats 
of  the  manna  of  St.  Nicholas  which  the  woman  ate  from 
his  hand  and  fell  dead  at  his  feet  in  this  trysting  place 
^vhere  they  met  for  the  last  lime.     The  man  fled  to  the 


QUOTH  THE  RAVEX:  ''  NEVERMORE  r' 


477 


forest,  hunted  by  a  remorseful  conscience,  and  died  a  re- 
tributive death.  J£e  fell  sick  and  was  devoured  by  wolves. 
La  Corriveau  alojie  of  mortals  held  the  terrible  secret. 

La  L'orriveau  gave  a  low  \\\\.\^\  as  she  saw  the  pale 
outline  of  the  woman  resolve  itself  into  the  grey  stone. 
"The  dead  come  not  again  !  "  muttered  she,  "and  if  they 
do  she  will  soon  have  a  companion  to  share  her  midnight 
walks  round  the  Chateau  !  "  La  Corriveau  had  no  con- 
science, she  knew  not  remorse,  and  would  probably  have 
felt  no  great  fear  had  that  pale  spirit  really  appeared  at 
that  moment  to  tax  her  v/ith  wicked  complicity  in  her 
murder. 

The  clock  of  the  Chateau  struck  twelve.  Its  reverber- 
ations sounded  far  into  the  night,  as  La  Corriveau  emerged 
stealthily  out  of  the  forest,  crouching  on  the  shady  side 
of  the  high  garden  hedges,  until  she  reached  the  old  watch 
tower,  which  stood  like  a  dead  sentinel  at  his  post  on  the 
flank  of  the  Chfiteau. 

There  was  an  open  doorway,  on  each  side  of  which  lay 
a  heap  of  fallen  stones.  This  was  the  entrance  into  a 
square  room,  dark  and  yawning  as  a  cavern.  It  was  trav- 
ersed by  one  streak  of  moonshine  which  struggled  through 
a  grated  window  set  in  the  thick  wall. 

La  Corriveau  stood  for  a  few  moments  lookina:  intentlv 
into  the  gloomy  ruin,  then  casting  a  sharp  glance  behintl 
her,  she  entered.  Tired  with  her  long  walk  through  the 
foresi,  she  fiung  herself  upon  a  stone  seat  to  rest,  and  to 
collect  her  thoughts  for  the  execution  of  her  terrible  mis- 
sion. 

The  dogs  of  the  Chateau  barked  vehemently,  as  if  the 
very  air  bore  some  ominous  taint  ;  but  La  Corriveau  knew 
she  was  safe.  They  were  shut  up  in  the  courtyard,  and 
could  not  trace  her  to  the  tower.  A  harsh  voice  or  two, 
and  the  s^und  of  whips,  presently  silenced  the  barking 
dogs,  and  all  was  still  again. 

She  had  got  into  the  tower  unseen  and  unheard. 
"  Thev  sav  there  is  an  eve  that  sees  evervthincr,"  muttered 
she,  "  and  an  ear  that  hears  our  very  thoughts.  If  God 
sees  and  hears,  he  does  nothing  to  prevent  me  from  accom- 
plishing my  end  ;  and  he  will  not  interfere  to-night !  No, 
not  for  all  the  prayers  she  may  utter,  which  will  not  be 
many  more  !  God— -if  there  be  one — lets  La  Corriveau 
live,  and  will  let  the  Lady  of  Beaumanoir  die  !  " 


iHfm 


(:'J 


478 


T//E  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


There  was  a  winclinfy  stair  of  stone,  narrow  and  tor- 
tuous, in  one  corner  of  tiie  tower.  Ii  led  upwards  to  tlie 
roof  and  downwards  to  a  deep  vault  which  was  arched  ^nd 
groined.  Its  heavy  rough  columns  supported  the  tower 
above,  and  divided  the  vaults  beneath.  These  vaults  had 
formerly  served  as  magazines  for  provisions  and  stores  for 
the  use  of  the  occupants  of  the  ("hate." a,  upon  occasions 
when  they  had  to  retire  for  safety  from  a  sudden  irruption 
of  Iroquois. 

La  Corriveau,  after  a  short  rest,  got  up  with  a  quick, 
impatient  movement.  She  went  over  to  an  arched  door- 
way, upon  which  her  eyes  had  been  fixed  for  several  min- 
utes. "  The  way  is  down  there,"  she  muttered,  ''  now  for 
a  light !  " 

She  found  the  entrance  to  the  stair  open  ;  she  passed 
in,  closing  the  door  behind  her,  so  that  the  glimmer  might 
not  be  seen  by  any  chance  stroller,  and  struck  a  ligiit. 
The  reputation  which  the  tower  had  of  being  haunted, 
made  the  servants  very  shy  of  entering  it,  even  in  the  day- 
lime  ;  and  the  man  was  considered  bold  indeed  who  came 
near  it  after  dark. 

With  her  candle  in  her  hand,  La  Corriveau  descended 
slowly  into  the  gloomy  vault.  It  was  a  large  cavern  of 
stone,  a  very  habitation  of  darkness,  which  seemed  to 
swallow  up  the  feeble  light  she  carried.  It  was  divided 
into  three  portions,  separated  by  rough  columns. 

A  spring  of  water  trickled  in  and  trickled  out  of  a  great 
stone  trough,  ever  full  and  overflowing  with  a  soft  tinkling 
sound,  like  a  clepsydra  measuring  the  movements  of  eter- 
nity. The  cool,  fresh,  living  water,  diffused  throughout 
the  vaults  an  even,  mild  temperature  the  year  round.  The 
gardeners  of  the  Chateau  ^ook  advantage  of  this,  and  used 
the  vault  as  a  favorite  store-room  for  their  crops  of  fruit 
and  vegetables  for  winter  use  in  the  chateau. 

La  Corriveau  went  resolutely  forward  as  one  who  knew 
what  she  sought  and  where  to  find  it,  and  presently  stood 
in  front  of  a  recess  containing  a  wooden  panel  similar  to 
that  in  the  Chateau,  and  movable  in  the  same  manner.  She 
considered  it  for  some  moments,  muttering  to  herself  as 
she  held  aloft  the  candle  to  inspect  it  closely  and  find  the 
spring  by  which  it  was  moved. 

La  Corriveau  had  been  carefully  instructed  by  Mbre 
Malheur  in  every  point  regarding  the  mechanism  of  this 


QUOTH  THE  RAVEN:  "  NEVERMORE  r' 


479 


door.  Slie  had  no  difficulty  in  fnidini;^  the  secret  of  its 
working.  A  sliglit  touch  sutriccd  when  the  ri^lit  place  was 
known.  She  pressed  it  liard  with  her  hand,  the  panel 
swung  open  and  behind  it  gaped  a  (hirk  narrow  passage 
leading  to  the  secret  chamber  of  C.'aroline. 

She  entered  without  hesitation,  knowing  whither  it  led. 
It  was  damp  and  stifling.  Her  candle  burned  dimmer 
and  dimmer  in  the  impure  air  of  the  long  shut-up  passage. 
There  were,  however,  no  other  obstacles  in  her  way.  Tiie 
passage  was  unincumbered  ;  but  the  low  arch,  scarcely 
over  her  own  height,  seemed  to  press  down  upon  her  as 
she  passed  along,  as  if  to  prevent  her  progress.  The  fear- 
less, wicked  heart  bore  her  up  )  nothing  worse  than  herself 
could  meet  her;  and  she  felt  neither  fear  at  what  lay  before 
her,  nor  remorse  at  what  was  behind. 

The  distance  to  be  traversed  was  not  far,  although  it 
seemed  to  her  impatience  to  be  interminable.  M^re  Mal- 
heur, with  her  light  heels,  could  once  run  through  it  in  a 
minute,  to  a  trvst  in  the  old  tower.  La  ('orriveau  was 
thrice  that  time  in  groping  her  way  along  it  before  she 
came  to  a  heavy  iron  ribbed  door,  set  in  a  deep  arch,  which 
marked  the  end  of  the  passage. 

That  black,  forbidding  door  was  the  dividing  of  light 
from  darkness,  of  good  from  evil,  (  i  innocence  from  guilt. 
On  one  side  of  it,  in  a  chamber  of  light,  sat  a  fair  girl,  con- 
fiding, generous  and  deceived  only  through  her  excess  of 
every  virtue  ;  on  the  other,  wickedness,  fell  and  artful,  was 
approaching  with  stealthy  footsteps  through  an  unseen 
way,  and  stood  with  hand  upraised  to  knock,  but  incapable 
of  entering  in,  unless  that  unsuspecting  girl  removed  the 
bar. 

Oh  !  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  !  martyr  to  womanly  love, 
and  the  victim  of  womanly  hate,  amid  all  liie  tossing 
thoughts  that  agitate  your  innocent  breast,  is  there  not  one 
to  suggest  a  fear  or  a  suspicion  of  fear  of  the  strange  woman 
who  comes  in  such  mysterious  fashion  to  the  door  of  your 
last  place  of  refuge  except  the  grave  .-' 

Alas  !  no  !  Caroline  sat  waiting,  counting  the  minutes 
one  by  one  as  the  finger  passed  over  the  dial  of  the  clock  ; 
impatient,  yet  trembling,  she  knew  not  why,  to  hear  the 
expected  knock  upon  the  fatal  door. 

She  had  no  suspicion  of  evil.  Her  guardian  angel  had 
turned  aside  to  weep.     Providence   itself   for   the  nonce 


480 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


W: 


m  i 


-^''  1 


seemed — Init  only  seemed — to  have  withdrawn  its  care.  It 
may  be  tiic  sooner  to  bear  tills  lost  lamb  into  its  fold  of 
rest  and  peace,  but  not  the  less  did  it  seem  for  ends  in- 
scrutable, to  have  delivered  her  over  to  the  craft  and  cruelty 
of  her  bitter  enemy. 

As  the  hour  of  niidni<]^ht  approached,  one  sound  after 
another  died  away  in  the  ChTiteau.  Caroline,  who  had  sat 
counting  the  hours  and  watching  the  spectral  moon,  as  it 
flickered  among  the  drifting  clouds,  withdrew  from  the  win- 
dow, with  a  trembling  step,  like  one  going  to  her  doom. 

She  descended  to  the  secret  chamber,  where  she  had 
appointed  to  meet  her  strange  visitor  and  hear  from  strange 
lips  the  story  that  would  be  told  her. 

She  attired  herself  with  care,  as  a  woman  will  in  every 
extremity  of  life  Her  dark  raven  hair  was  simply  arranged, 
and  fell  in  tiiick  masses  over  her  neck  and  slioulders.  She 
put  on  a  robe  of  soft  snow  white  texture,  and  by  an  impulse 
she  yielded  to,  but  could  not  explain,  bound  her  waist  with 
a  black  sash,  like  a  strain  of  mourning  in  a  song  of  inno- 
cence. She  wore  no  ornaments  save  a  ring,  the  love  gift 
of  Bigot,  which  she  never  parted  with,  but  wore  with  a 
morbid  anticipation  that  its  promises  would  one  day  be  ful- 
filled. She  clung  to  it  as  a  talisman  that  would  yet  conjure 
away  her  sorrows,  and  it  did  !  but,  alas  !  in  a  way  little 
anticipated  by  the  constant  girl  !  A  blast  from  hell  was  at 
hand  to  sweep  away  her  young  life,  and  with  it,  all  her 
earthly  troubles. 

She  took  up  a  guitar,  mechanically  as  it  were,  and  as 
her  fingers  wandered  over  the  strings,  a  bar  or  two  of  the 
strain,  sad  as  the  sigh  of  a  broken  heart,  suggested  an  old 
ditty  she  had  loved  formerly,  when  her  heart  was  full  of 
sunshine  and  happiness,  when  her  fancy  used  to  indulge 
in  the  luxury  of  melancholic  musings,  as  every  happy,  sen- 
sitive and  imaginative  girl  will  do,  as  a  counterpoise  to  her 
high-wrought  feelings. 

In  a  low  voice,  sweet  and  plaintive  as  the  breathings  of 
an  ^olian  harp,  Caroline  sang  her  Minne-song : — ■ 

"  A  linnet  sat  upon  a  thorn 

At  evening  chime. 
Its  sweet  refrain  fell  like  the  rain 

Of  summer  time. 
Of  summer  time  when  roses  bloomed, 

And  bright  above 


QUOTH  THE  RAVE.V:  " A^EVER.VOKE !"         481 

A  rainbow  spnnncd  my  fairy  land 

Of  hope  and  love  ! 
Of  hope  and  love,  (>,  Linnet  !  cease 

Thy  niix-kinji  theme  ! 
I  iic'er  picked  up  the  golden  cup, 

In  all  mv  dream  ! 
In  all  mv  dream  I  missed  the  prize 

Should  have  Wen  mine  ; 
And  dreams  wont  die  !  though  fain  would  I, 

And  make  nu  sign  !  " 

The  lamps  burned  briG^htly,  shccklins;  a  cheerful  \\%\\t 
upon  the  landscapes  and  lii^ures  woven  into  the  tapestry, 
behind  which  was  concealed  the  back  door  that  was  to 
admit  La  C'orriveau. 

It  was  oi)j)ressively  still.  Caroline  listened  with  mouth 
and  ears  for  some  sound  of  approachint;  footsteps  until  her 
heart  beat  like  the  swift  stroke  of  a  hammer,  as  it  sent  the 
blood  throbbinjT  throui;h  her  temples  with  a  rush  that 
almost  overpowered  her. 

She  was  alone,  and  lonely  beyond  expression.  Down 
in  these  thick  foundations  no  sound  penetrated,  to  break 
the  terrible  monotony  of  the  silence  around  her,  except  the 
dull  solemn  voice  of  the  bell  strlkin<i  the  hour  of  midni<rht. 

Caroline  had  jjassed  a  sleepless  nii^ht  after  the  visit  of 
Mere  Malheur  ;  sometimes  tossing  on  her  solitary  couch  ; 
sometimes  starting;  up  in  terror.  She  rose  and  threw  her- 
self despairingly  upf)n  her  knees,  calling  on  Christ  to  par- 
don her,  and  on  the  Mother  of  Mercies  to  plead  for  her, 
sinner  that  she  was,  whose  hour  of  shame  and  punishment 
had  come  ! 

The  mvsterious  letter  brought  bv  Mc-re  Malheur,  an- 
nouncing  tliat  her  j)lace  of  concealment  was  to  be  searclied 
by  the  Governor,  excited  her  liveliest  apprehensions.  Hut 
that  faded  into  nothingness  in  comparison  willi  the  abso- 
lute terror  that  seized  her  at  the  tlioughts  of  the  speedy 
arrival  of  her  father  in  the  colony. 

Caroline,  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  shame  and  con- 
trition, pictured  to  herself,  in  darkest  colors,  the  anger  of 
her  father  at  the  dishonor  she  had  brought  upon  his  unsul- 
lied name. 

She  sat  down,  she  rose  up,  she  walked  her  solitary 
chamber,  and  knelt  passionately  on  the  floor,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands,  crying  to  the  Madonna  for  pity  and 
protection. 

31 


482 


THE  CIIIEN  noR. 


ii:  ■  \ 


'"'  \ 


Poor  self-accuser  !  The  hardest  and  most  merciless 
vretch  who  e\(r  threw  stones  at  a  woman,  was  pitiful  in 
comparison  with  Caroline's  inexorable  condemnation  of 
hers(  If. 

Vet  her  fear  was  not  on  her  '  \vn  account.  She  could 
have  kissed  Iier  father's  iiand  and  submitted  humbly  to 
death  itself,  if  he  chose  to  inllicl  it  ;  but  she  trembled  most 
at  the  thou^dit  of  a  meeting  between  the  fiery  JJaron  and 
the  hau<4,lity  Intendaiit.  One  or  the  other,  or  both  of  them, 
she  fel,  instiiKtively,  must  die,  should  tiie  Haron  discover 
that  I'it^ot  had  been  the  cause  of  the  ruin  of  his  idolized 
child. 

She  trembled  for  both,  and  prayed  God  that  she  mif^ht 
die  in  their  stead,  and  the  secret  of  her  shame  never  be 
known  to  her  fond  father. 

A  dull  sound,  Hke  footsteps  shufninij  in  the  dark  pas- 
sage behind  the  arras,  struck  her  ear ;  she  knew  her 
strani;e  visitant  was  come.  She  started  up,  clasping  her 
hands  hard  top;ether  as  she  listened,  woiulerinj;  who  and 
w  hat  like  shi'  nii^^ht  be  ?  She  susj>ected  no  harm,  for  who 
could  desire  to  harm  her  who  iiad  never  injured  a  living 
beinp;  ?  Yet  there  she  stood  on  the  one  side  of  that  black 
door  of  doom,  while  the  calamity  of  her  life  stood  on  the 
other  side  like  a  tigress  readv  to  spring;  thron_<;li.  Caroline 
thought  nought  of  this,  but  rather  listened  with  a  sense  of 
reliif  to  the  stealthy  footfalls  that  came  slowly  along  the 
hidden  passage.  Perhaps  it  is  well  that  for  the  most  part 
the  catastropldes  and  sorrows  ('f  life  overtake  us  without 
long  warning.  Life  would  be  intolerable  had  we  to  fore- 
ste  as  well  as  to  endure  the  pains  of  it  ! 

A  low  knock  twice  repealed  on  the  thick  door  behind 
the  arras,  drew  her  at  once  to  her  feet.  She  trembled 
violently  as  she  lifted  up  the  tapestry,  something  rushed 
thrt)ugh  her  mind  telling  her  not  to  do  it !  Happy  had  it 
been  for  her  never  to  have  opened  that  fatal  door ! 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  the  thought  of  her 
father  and  the  impending  search  of  the  Chateau,  flashed 
suddenly  upon  her  mind.  .The  visitant,  whoever  she  might 
be,  professed  to  be  a  friend,  and  could,  she  thought,  have 
no  motive  to  harm  her, 

Caroline,  with  a  sudden  impulse,  pushed  aside  the 
fastening  of  the  door  and  uttering  the  words  Dieii  ! protege 
moi  !  stood  face  to  face  with  La,  Corriveau, 


QUOTH  THE  RAVEiV:  " NEVER. UORE ! 


483 


e 


The  brii^ht  lamp  shone  full  on  the  tall  fif^ure  of  the 
stranj^e  visitor,  and  Caroline,  whose  fears  had  anticipated 
some  uncouth  sif(ht  of  terror,  was  surprised  to  see  only  a 
woman  dressed  in  the  simple  <;arb  of  a  peasant,  with  a 
little  basket  on  her  arm,  enter  quietly  through  the  secret 
door. 

The  eyes  of  La  Corriveau  j;lared  for  a  moment  with 
fiendish  curiosity  upon  the  young  girl  who  stood  before 
her  like  oni;  of  God's  an^rels.  She  measunnl  her  from  head 
to  foot,  noted  every  fold  of  her  white  robe,  every  llcxure  of 
her  graceful  form,  and  drank  in  the  whole  beauty  and 
innocence  of  her  aspect  with  a  fe'eling  of  innate  spite,  at 
ought  so  fair  and  good.  On  her  thin  cruel  lips  there  played 
a  smile  as  the  secret  thought  hovered  over  them  in  an 
unspoken  whisper,  —  "She  will  make  a  pretty  corpse! 
Brinvilliers  and  La  Voisin  never  mingled  drink  for  a  fairer 
victim  than  I  will  crown  with  roses  to-night !  " 

Caroline-retreated  a  few  steps,  frightened  and  trembling, 
as  she  encountered  the  glittering  eyes  and  sinister  smile 
of  La  Corriveau.  The  woman  observed  it,  and  instantly 
changed  her  mien,  to  one  more  natural  and  sympathetic  ; 
for  she  comprehended  fully  the  need  of  disarming  suspicion 
and  of  winning  the  confidence  of  her  victim  to  enable  her 
more  surely  to  destroy  her. 

Caroline,  reassured  by  a  second  glance  at  her  visitor, 
thought  she  had  been  mista'  en  in  her  first  impression. 
The  peasaiU's  dress,  the  harmless  basket,  the  quiet  man- 
ner assumed  by  La  Corriveau  as  she  stood  in  a  respectful 
attitude,  as  if  waiting  to  be  spoken  to,  banished  all  fears 
from  the  mind  of  Caroline,  and  left  her  only  curious  to 
know  the  issue  of  this  mysterious  visit. 

What  La  Corriveau  had  planned  was  not  a  deed  of 
violence,  although  she  had  brought  with  her  an  Italian 
stiletto  of  sharpest  steel,  the  same  which  lieatrice  Spara 
had  left  sticking  in  the  heart  of  Beppa  Farinata  whom 
she  found  in  the  chamber  of  Antonio  Exili.  But  it  was 
only  at  the  last  extremity  I^a  Corriveau  meant  to  resort 
to  its  use.  She  had  brought  it  more  to  protect  her  own 
life  if  in  danger,  than  to  take  that  of  her  victim. 

She  had  resolved  on  a  quieter  and  surer  plan  to  kill 
the  innocent,  unsuspecting  girl.  She  would  visit  her  as  a 
friend,  a  harmless  peasant  woman,  moved  only  for  her  safety. 
She  would  catch  her  attention  in  a  net-work  of  lies,  she 


484 


THE  CniEiY  D'OK. 


would  win  her  coiifKlcnce  by  afTcctcd  sympathy,  cheer  her 
with  bright  hoprs,  and  k-avc  her  dead  with  the  br)Uf|uet  of 
roses  like  a  biidal  <;ift  in  her  hand.  No  one  should  know 
whence  came  the  luiseen  stroke.  No  one  should  suspect 
it,  and  the  Intendant  who  would  not  dare  in  any  event  to 
pronud;4;ate  a  syllable  of  her  death,  nay,  he  should  himself 
believe,  that  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  had  died  by  the  visi- 
tation of  Ciod. 

It  was  an  artful  scheme,  wickedly  conceived  and  mer- 
tilessly  carried  out,  with  a  burst  of  more  than  its  intended 
atrocity.  La  (lorriveau  erred  in  one  point.  She  did  not 
know  the  intensity  of  the  lives  that  raged  in  her  own  evil 
bosom. 

Providence,  for  some  inscrutable  end,  seemed  for  the 
moment  to  have  withdrawn  its  care  from  the  secret  cham- 
ber of  JJeaumanoir,  and  left  this  hapless  girl  to  die  by 
blackest  treachery  unseen  and  unknown,  but  not  forgotten 
by  those  who  loved  her  and  who  would  have  given  their 
lives  for  her  safety. 


pi! 

t 


CHAPTER    XLV. 


A  DEED  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 


Caroline,  profoundly  agitated,  rested  her  hands  on  the 
back  of  a  chair  for  support,  and  regarded  La  Corriveau 
for  some  moments  without  speaking.  She  tried  to  frame  a 
question  of  some  introductory  kind,  but  could  not.  But 
the  pent-up  feelings  came  out  at  last  in  a  gush  straight 
from  the  heart. 

"  Did  you  write  this  ? "  said  she,  falteriu-ly,  to  La  Cor- 
riveau, and  holding  out  the  letter  so  mysteriously  placed  in 
her  hand  by  Mere  Malheur.     "  O,  tell  me,  is  it  true?  " 

La  Corriveau  did  not  reply  except  by  a  sign  of  assent, 
and  standing  upright  waited  for  further  question. 

Caroline  looked  at  her  again,  wonderingly.  That  a 
simple  peasant  woman  could  have  indited  such  a  letter,  or 
could  have  known  ought  respecting  her  father,  seemed 
incredible. 


A   DEED    U'lTIIOUT  A   NAME. 


48s 


"  In  heaven's  name  tell  me  wlio  and  what  you  are  I " 
exclaiuRd  she.     '*  I  never  saw  you  before  !  " 

"  ^'ou  have  segii  me  before  !  "  replied  La  Corriveau, 
quietly. 

Caroline  looked  at  her  amazedly,  but  did  not  recoj^nize 
her.  La  ('orri\eau  conliniicd  :  *'  \'oiir  father  is  the  Haion 
de  Si.  C'astin,  and  yon,  lady,  would  rather  die  than  endure 
that  he  slunild  fuul  you  in  the  ChAteau  of  lleaumanoir.  Ask 
me  not  how  I  know  these  things,  you  will  not  deny  their 
truth  ;  as  for  myself,  1  i)retend  not  to  be  other  than  I  seem." 

'*  Your  dress  is  that  of  a  peasant  woman,  but  your 
language  is  not  the  lan_i;ua>^e  of  one.  \'ou  are  a  lady  in 
dis<^uise  visiting  me  in  this  strange  fashion  !  "  said  (Caroline, 
puzzled  more  than  ever.  Her  thoughts  at  this  instant 
reverted  to  the  Intendanl.  "  Why  do  you  come  here  in 
this  secret  manner?"  asked  she. 

*'  I  do  not  appear  other  than  I  am,"  replied  La  Corri- 
veau, evasively,  "  and  1  come  in  this  secret  manner 
because  I  could  get  access  to  you  in  no  other  way." 

"  You  said  that  I  had  seen  you  before;  1  have  no  knowl- 
edge or  recollection  of  it,"  remarked  Caroline,  looking 
fixedly  at  her. 

"  Yes  !  you  saw  me  once  in  the  wood  of  St.  Valier. 
Do  you  remember  the  peasmt  woman  who  was  gathering 
mandrakes  when  you  passed  with  your  Indian  guides,  and 
who  gave  you  milk  to  refresh  you  on  the  way  ?  " 

This  seemed  like  a  revelation  to  Caroline  ;  she  remem- 
bered the  incident  and  the  woman.  La  Corriveau  had 
carefidly  ]Diit  on  the  same  dress  she  had  worn  that  day. 

"I  do  recollect !  "  replied  Caroline,  as  a  feeling  of  con- 
fidence welled  up  like  a  living  spring  within  her.  She 
offered  La  Corriveau  her  hand.  ''  1  thank  you  gratefully," 
said  she  ;"  vou  were  indeed  kind  to  me  that  dav  in  the 
forest,  and  I  am  sure  you  must  mean  kindly  by  me  now." 

La  Corriveau  took  the  offered  hand,  l)ut  did  not  press 
it.  She  could  not  for  the  life  of  her,  for  she  had  not  heart 
to  return  the  pressure  of  a  human  hand.  She  saw  her 
advantage,  however,  and  kept  it  through  the  rest  of  the 
brief  interview. 

"  I  mean  you  kindly,  lady  I"  replied  she,  softening  her 
harsh  voice  as  much  as  she  could  to  a  tone  of  sympathy, 
"  and  I  come  to  help  you  out  of  your  trouble." 

For  a  moment  that  cruel  smile  played  on  her  thin   lips 


I'!       ! 


1i 


486 


r//E  cm  EN  DOR. 


apfriin,  but  she  instantly  repressed  it.  "  T  am  only  a  peas- 
ant woman,"  rc^pcatcd  she  aj^ain,  *' hut  I  hrinj:;  you  a  httle 
gilt  in  my  basket  to  show  my  fjood  will."  She  put  her 
hand  in  her  basket  but  did  not  withdraw  it  at  the  moment, 
as  Caroline,  thinkinj;  little  of  gifts  but  only  of  her  father, 
exclaimed  : 

"  I  am  sure  you  mean  well,  but  you  have  more  import- 
ant thini;s  to  tell  me  of  than  a  gift.  Vour  letter  spoke  of 
my  father.  What,  in  God's  name,  have  vou  to  tell  me  of  my 
father }  " 

La  C'orriveau  withdrew  her  hand  from  the  basket  and 
replied,  *'  He  is  on  his  way  to  New  France  in  search  of 
you.     He  knows  you  are  here,  lady." 

"  In  lieaumanoir?  O,  it  cannot  be  I  No  one  knows  I 
am  here !  "  exclaimed  Caroline,  clasping  her  hands  in  an 
impulse  of  alarm. 

"  Ves,  more  than  you  suppose,  lady,  else  how  did  I 
know.''  Your  father  comes  with  the  king's  letters  to  take 
you  hence  and  return  with  you  to  Acadia  or  to  lYance." 
La  Corriveau  placed  her  hand  in  her  basket,  but  withdrew 
it  again.      It  was  not  yet  time. 

"(rod  help  me,  then  !"  exclaimed  Caroline,  shrinking 
witli  terror.  *'  But  the  Intendant  ;  what  said  you  of  the 
Intendant?" 

"  He  is  ordered  dc  par  Ic  Roy  to  give  you  up  to  your 
father,  and  he  will  do  so  if  you  be  not  taken  away  sooner  by 
the  governor."     Caroline  was  nigh  fainting  at  these  words. 

"Sooner!  how  sooner?"  asked  she,  faintly. 

*'  The  Governor  has  received  orders  from  the  king  to 
search  Heaumanoir  from  roof  to  foundation  stone,  and  he 
may  come  to-morrow,  lady,  and  find  you  here." 

The  words  of  La  Corriveau  struck  like  sharp  arrows 
into  the  soul  of  the  hapless  girl. 

"  God  help  me,  then  !  "  exclaimed  she,  clasping  her 
hands  in  agony.  "  O,  that  I  were  dead  and  buried  where 
only  my  Judge  could  find  me  at  the  last  day,  for  I  have  no 
hope,  no  claim  upon  man's  mercy!  The  world  will  stone 
me,  dead  or  living!  and  alas!  I  deserve  my  fate.  It  is  not 
hard  to  die,  but  it  is  hard  to  bear  the  shame  which  will 
not  die  with  me  !  " 

She  cast  her  eyes  despairingly  upward,  as  she  uttered 
this,  and  did  not  see  the  bitter  smile  n^urn  to  the  lips  of 
La  Corriveau,  who  stood  upright,  cold  and  immovable  be 


A  DEED  WITHOUT  A  XAME. 


487 


fore  her,  \vit!i  finc^ors  twitchin;^  nervously.  like  the  claws 
of  a  l'"ury,  in  her  liff!e  hasket,  while  she  whispered  to  hcr- 
st.'lf,  '*  Is  ii  lime,  is  it  time?"  but  she  took  not  out  the 
bjuquet  yet. 

Caroline  caine  still  nearer  with  a  surldcn  chanj^e  of 
thou;;ht,  and  clutehinijj  the  dress  of  La  Corrivean,  cried  out, 
"()  woman,  is  this  ail  true.'  How  can  you  know  all  this 
to  be  true  of  me,  and  you  a  stranger.'" 

"  I  know  it  of  a  certainty,  and  I  am  come  to  help  you. 
I  may  not  tell  you  by  whom  I  know  it  ;  perhaps  the  In- 
tendant  himself  has  sent  me,"  replied  La  ('orriveau,  with 
a  sudden  ijromptin^  of  the  spirit  of  evil  who  stood  beside 
her.  *' The  Intentlant  will  hide  you  from  this  search,  if 
there  be  a  sure  place  of  concealment  in  New  France." 

The  reply  siiot  a  ray  of  hopt:  across  the  mind  of  the 
agonized  <;irl.  She  bounded  with  a  sense  of  deli\'erance. 
It  seemed  so  natural  that  Higot,  so  deeply  concerned  in 
her  concealment,  should  have  sent  this  peasant  woman  to 
take  her  away,  that  she  could  not  reflect  at  the  moment  how 
unlikely  it  was,  nor  could  she,  in  her  excitement,  read  the 
lie  upon  the  cold  face  of  La  Corriveau. 

She  seized  the  explanation  with  the  grasp  of  despair, 
as  a  sailor  seizes  the  one  plank  which  the  waves  have 
washed  within  his  reach,  when  all  else  has  sunk  in  the 
seas  around  him. 

*'  Bigot  sent  you  ? "  exclaimed  Caroline,  raising  her 
hands,  while  her  pale  face  was  suddenly  suffused  with  a 
flush  of  joy.  "  Bigot  sent  you  to  conduct  me  hence  to  a 
sure  place  of  concealment  ?  (),  blessed  messenger  !  I 
believe  you  now."  Her  excited  imagination  outflew  even 
the  inventions  of  La  Corriveau.  "  Bigot  has  heard  of  my 
peril,  and  sent  you  here  at  midiiight  to  take  me  away  to 
your  forest  home  until  this  search  be  over.  Is  it  not  so  ? 
Francois  Bigot  did  not  forget  me  in  my  danger,  even  while 
he  was  away  !  " 

"  Yes,  lady,  the  Intendant  sent  me  to  conduct  you  to 
St  Valier,  to  hide  you  there  in  a  sure  retreat  until  the 
search  be  over,"  replied  La  Corriveau,  calmly  eyeing  her 
from  head  to  foot. 

"  It  is  like  him  !  He  is  not  unkind  when  left  to  him- 
self. It  is  so  like  the  Francois  Bigot  I  once  knew  !  But 
tell  me.  woman,  what  said  he  further  ?  Did  you  see  him, 
did  you  hear  him  ?     Tell  me  all  he  said  to  you." 


fi 


488 


THE  CHIEN  nOR. 


m 


:  ! 


:4 


"  T  saw  liim,  lady,  and  heard  him,"  replied  La  Corriv^aif, 
taking;  tiie  bouqiiet  in  her  tiii^;cr.s,  ''but  he  said  little  more 
than  1  have  told  you.  'ihe  Iiitendant  is  a  stern  man,  and 
gives  few  words,  save  commands,  to  those  of  my  condition. 
But  he  bade  me  convey  to  you  a  token  of  his  love  ;  you 
would  know  its  meaning,  he  said.  I  have  it  safe,  lady,  in 
this  basket — shall  I  <;ive  it  to  you  ?  " 

"A  token  of  his  love,  of  I'''an^-ois  Bigot's  love  to  me  ! 
Are  you  a  woman  and  could  delay  giving  it  so  long?  why 
gave  you  it  not  at  first  ?  I  should  not  have  doubted  you 
then,  (>  give  it  to  me,  and  be  blessed  as  the  welcomest 
messenger  that  ever  came  t(»  JJeaunumoir  !  " 

La  Corriveau  held  her  hand  a  moment  more  in  the 
basket.  Her  dark  features  turned  a  shade  paler,  although 
not  a  nerve  quivered  as  she  plucked  out  a  parcel  carefully 
wrajiped  in  silver  tissue  ;  she  slipped  off  the  cover,  and 
hold  at  arms  length  towards  the  eager,  expectant  girl,  the 
fatal  bouquet  of  roses,  beautiful  to  see  as  the  fairest  that 
ever  filled  the  lap  of  Flora. 

Caroline  clasped  it  with  both  hands,  exclaiming  in  a 
voice  of  exultation,  while  every  feature  radiated  with  joy, 
"  It  is  the  gift  of  (lod,  and  the  return  of  Frangois'  love  ! 
All  will  yet  be  well  !  " 

"  She  pressed  the  glowing  flowers  to  her  lips  with  pas- 
sionate kisses,  breathed  once  or  twice  their  mortal  poison, 
and  suddenly  throwing  hack  her  head  with  her  dark  eyes 
fixed  on  vacancy,  but  holding  the  fatal  bouquet  fast  in  her 
hands,  fell  stone  dead  at  the  feet  of  La  Corriveau  ! 

A  weird  laugii,  t'.'rrihle  and  unsuppressed,  rang  round 
the  walls  of  the  secret  chamber,  where  the  lamps  burned 
bright  as  ever,  but  the  glowing  pictures  of  the  tapestry 
never  changed  a  feature.  Was  it  not  strange  that  even 
those  jiainted  men  should  not  have  cried  out  at  the  sight 
of  so  pitiless  a  murder  ? 

Caroline  lay  amid  them  all.  the  flush  of  joy  still  on  her 
cheek,  the  smile  not  yet  vanished  from  lier  lips.  A  pity 
for  all  the  world,  could  it  have  seen  her;  but  in  that  lonely 
chamber  no  eye  pitied  her. 

But  now  a  more  cruel  thing  supervened.  The  sight  of 
Caroline's  lifeless  form  instead  of  pity  or  remorse,  roused 
all  the  innate  furies  thai  belonged  to  the  execrable  race  of 
La  Corri\eau.  The  l)lo()d  of  generations  of  poisoners  and 
assassins  boiled  and  rioted  in  her  veins.      'Fhe  spirits  of 


A  DEED  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 


489 


Beatrice  Spara  and  of  La  Voisin  inspired  her  with  new 
fury.  She  was  at  this  moment  like  a  pantheress  that  has 
brouojht  down  her  prey  and  stands  over  it  to  rend  it  in 
pieces. 

Caroline  lay  dead,  dead  beyond  all  doul)t,  never  to  be 
resuscitated,  except  in  the  resurrection  of  the  just.  La  Cor- 
riveau  bent  over  her  and  felt  her  heart ;  it  was  still.  No 
sign  of  breath  tlickep.'d  on  lip  or  nostril. 

The  poisoner  knew  she  was  dead,  but  something  still 
woke  her  suspicions  as  with  a  new  thought  she  drew  back 
and  looked  again  at  the  beauteous  form  before  her.  Sud- 
denly, as  if  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  sh<.'  plucked 
the  sharp  Italian  stiletto  from  her  bosom  and  with  a  firm, 
heavy  hand,  plungcid  it  twice  into  the  body  of  the  lifeless 
girl.  "  If  there  be  life  there,''  she  said,  "  it  too  shall  die  1 
La  Corrivcau  leaves  no  work  of  hers  half  done  !  " 

A  faint  trickle  of  blood  in  red  threads,  ran  down  the 
snow  white  vestment,  and  ^lat  was  all  !  'I'he  heart  had 
forever  ceased  to  beat,  and  the  blood  to  circulate.  The 
golden  bowl  was  broken,  and  the  silver  cord  of  life  loosed 
forever,  and  yet  this  last  indignity  would  have  recalled 
the  soul  of  Caroline,  could  she  iiavt;  been  conscious  of  it. 
But  all  was  well  with  her  now  !  not  in  the  sense  of  the 
last  joyous  syllables  she  spoke  in  life,  but  in  a  higher, 
holier  sense,  as  when  God  interprets  our  words  and  not 
men,  all  was  well  with  her  now  ! 

She  had  got  peace  now,  she  slept  in  her  beauty  and 
innocence  as  one  waiting  in  a  happy  dream  to  be  carried 
off  by  a  flight  of  angelic  messengers,  to  that  only  heaven 
of  rest,  which  had  lately  been  so  often  revealed  to  her  in 
dreams  and  visions  at  the  foot  of  the  cross. 

The  passage  of  the  dark  water  had  been  short,  perhaps 
bitter,  perhaps  sweet,  God  only  knows  how  sweet  or  how 
bitter  that  passage  is  !  We  only  know  that  it  is  dark  and 
looks  bitter,  but  whether  sweet  or  bitter,  the  black  river 
must  be  traversed  alone,  alone  by  every  one  of  us !  A 
dark  journey  away  from  the  bright  sun  and  the  abodes  of 
living  men  !  Happy  is  he  who  can  take  with  him  the  staff 
of  faith  to  support  him  in  the  solitary  ford  where  no  help 
is  more  from  man!  Happy  she  who  can  carry  love  in 
death  and  meet  death  in  love,  for  her  love  goes  with  her 
like  a  lamp  shining  on  the  way  of  the  faithful  spirit  which 
returns  to  God. 


490 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


Tlie  gaunt,  iron  visap^ed  woman  knelt  clown  upon  her 
knees,  gazing  with  unshrinking  eyes  upon  the  face  of  her 
victim,  as  if  curiouly  marking  the  effect  of  a  successful  ex- 
periment of  the  A(jua  Tofaiui. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  dared  to  administer 
that  subtle  poison  in  the  fashion  of  La  Borgia. 

''The  Acpia  Tofana  does  its  work  like  a  charm  !  "  mut- 
tered she.  "TJiat  vial  was  compounded  by  Beatrice  Sjjara, 
and  is  worthy  of  her  skill  and  more  sure  tlian  her  stiletto! 
I  was  frantic  to  use  that  weapon,  for  no  purpose  than  to 
redden  my  hands  with  the  work  of  a  low  bravo  !  " 

A  few  drops  of  blood  were  on  the  hand  of  La  Cor- 
riveau.  She  wii:)ed  them  impatiently  upon  the  garment 
of  Caroline,  where  it  left  the  impress  of  her  fingers  upon  the 
snowy  muslin.  No  pity  for  her  pallid  victim,  who  lay  with 
open  eyes  looking  dumbly  upon  her,  no  remorse  for  her 
act  touched  the  stony  heart  of  La  Corriveau. 

The  clock  of  the  chateau  struck  one.  The  solitary 
stroke  of  the  bell  reverberated  like  an  accusing  voice 
through  the  house,  but  fniled  to  awake  one  sleeper  to  a 
discovery  of  the  black  iiagedy  that  had  just  taken  place 
under  its  roof. 

That  sound  had  often  struck  sadly  upon  the  ear  of 
Caroline,  as  she  prolonged  her  vigil  of  prayer  through  the 
still  watches  of  the  night.  Her  ear  was  dull  enough  now 
to  all  earthly  sound  !  But  the  toll  of  the  bell  reached 
the  ea*-  of  La  Corriveau,  rousing  her  to  the  need  of  im- 
mediately effecting  her  escape,  now  that  her  task  was 
done. 

She  sprang  up  and  looked  nnrrowly  round  the  chamber. 
She  marked  with  envious  malignity  the  luxury  and  magnifi- 
cence of  its  adornments.  Upon  a  chair  lay  her  own  letter 
sent  to  Caroline  by  the  hands  of  Mere  Malheur.  La  Corri- 
veau snatched  it  up.  It  was  what  she  sought.  She  tore  it  in 
pieces  and  threw  the  fragments  from  her ;  but  wiih  a  sudden 
thought,  as  if  not  daring  to  leave  even  the  fragments  upon 
the  floor,  she  gathered  them  up  hastily  and  put  them  in  her 
basket  with  the  bouquet  of  roses  which  she  wrested  from 
the  dead  f  ngers  of  Caroline,  in  order  to  carry  it  away  and 
scatter  the  fatal  flowers  in  the  forest. 

She  pulled  oi)en  the  drawers  of  the  escritoire  to  search 
for  money,  but  finding  none,  was  too  wary  to  carry  off 
ought  else.     The  temptation  lay  sore  upon  her  to  carry 


A  DEED  WITHOUT  A  A'AME. 


491 


ir 


r 


away  the  ring  from  the  finrjer  of  Caroline.  Slie  drew  it  off 
the  pale  wasted  finger,  but  a  caulious  Cf>nsideratioii  re- 
strained her.    She  put  it  on  again,  and  would  not  take  it. 

"  Jt  would  only  lead  to  discovery  !  "  nuittered  she.  "  I 
must  take  nothing  but  myself,  and  what  belongs  to  me 
away  from  IJeaumanoir,  and  the  sooner  the  better  !  " 

La  Coniveau  with  lier  basket  again  upon  her  arm,  turn- 
ed to  give  one  last  look  of  tiendish  satisfaction  at  the 
corpse  which  lay  like  a  dead  angel  slain  in  God's  battle. 
The  bright  lamps  were  glaring  full  upon  her  still  beautiful 
but  sightless  eyes,  whicli  wide  open  looked,  even  in  death, 
reproachfully,  yet  forgivingly,  upon  their  murderess. 

Something  startled  La  C'orriveau  in  that  look.  She 
turned  hastily  away,  and  relighting  her  candle  passed 
through  the  dark  archway  of  the  secret  door,  forgetting  to 
close  it  after  her,  and  retraced  her  steps  along  the  stone 
passage  until  she  came  to  the  watch  tower  where  she  dashed 
out  her  light. 

Creeping  round  the  tower  in  the  diin  moonlight,  she 
listened  long  and  anxiously  at  door  and  window  to  dis- 
cover if  all  was  still  about  the  Chateau.  Nf)t  a  sound  was 
heard  but  the  water  of  the  little  brook  gurgling  in  its  pebbly 
bed,  which  seemed  to  be  all  that  was  awake  on  this  night  of 
death. 

La  Corriveau  emerged  cautiously  from  the  tower.  She 
crept  like  a  guilty  thing  under  the  shadow  of  the  hedge, 
and  got  away  unperceived  by  the  same  road  she  had  come. 
She  glided  like  a  dark  spectre  through  the  forest  of  Beau- 
manoir,  and  returned  to  the  city  to  tell  Angelique  des 
Meloises  that  the  arms  of  the  Intendant  were  now  empty 
and  ready  to  clasp  her  as  his  bride  ;  that  her  rival  was 
dead,  and  she  had  i:)Ut  herself  under  bonds  forever  to  La 
Corriveau  as  the  price  of  innocent  blood. 

La  Corriveau  reached  the  city  in  the  grey  of  the  morn- 
ins:  :  a  thick  fog  lav  like  a  win(ling  sheet  upon  the  face 
of  nature.  The  bi  lad  river,  the  lofty  rocks,  every  object, 
great  and  small,  were  hidden  from  view. 

To  the  intense  satisfaction  of  La  Corriveau,  the  fog 
concealed  her  return  to  the  house  of  Mere  ^Lalheur,  whence 
after  a  brief  repose,  and  with  a  command  to  the  old  crone 
to  ask  no  questions  yet,  she  sallied  forth  again  to  carry  to 
Angelique  the  welcome  news  that  her  rival  was  dead. 

No  one  observed   La  Corriveau  as  she  passed  in  her 


492 


THE  CHI  EN  /yOR. 


I   H 


II 


peasant  dress  throuijh  the  misty  streets,  which  did  not 
admit  of  an  object  being  discerned  ten  paces  off. 

Ange'lique  was  ujj.  She  had  not  gone  to  bed  that 
night,  and  sat  feverishly  on  the  watch  expecting  the  arrival 
of  La  Corriveau. 

She  had  counted  the  minutes  of  the  silent  hours  of  the 
night  as  they  passed  by  her  in  a  terrible  panorama.  She 
pictured  to  her  imagination  the  successive  scenes  of  the 
tragedy  which  was  being  accomplished  at  Beaumanoir. 

'I'he  hour  of  midnight  culminated  over  her  head,  and 
looking  out  of  her  window  at  the  black  distant  hills  in  the 
recesses  of  which  she  knew  lay  the  chateau,  her  agitation 
grew  intense.  She  knew  at  that  hour  La  Corriveau  must 
be  in  the  presence  of  her  victim.  Would  she  kill  her  ?  Was 
she  about  it  now  .''  The  thought  fastened  on  Ange'lique 
like  a  wild  beast,  and  would  not  let  go.  She  thought  of 
the  Intendant  and  was  liUed  with  hope  :  she  thought  of  the 
crime  of  murder  and  shrunk  now  that  it  was  being  done. 

Angrlique  was  not  wholly  bad,  far  from  it.  Her  reck- 
less ambition,  hot  passions,  and  cold  heart  had  led  her 
blindly  where  she  now  found  herself,  the  princi|)al  in  adeed 
of  murder,  which,  by  no  subterfuge  could  she  now  conceal 
from  herself,  she  was  more  guilty  of,  than  the  wicked  in- 
strument she  had  made  use  of. 

All  night  long  had  she  tossed  and  disquieted  herself  in 
an  agony  of  conllicting  emotions.  The  thought  of  the  murder 
was  not  al)sent  for  one  moment  from  her  mind.  By  turns 
she  justified  it,  repented  of  it,  hoped  for  it,  condemned  it, 
and  wished  for  it  again  !  Believing  it  done,  she  wished 
it  undone.  Fearing  it  undone,  she  was  ready  to  curse 
La  Corriveau  and  her  stars  that  it  was  not  done  !  Her 
mind  was  like  water,  ready  to  rush  through  any  floodgate 
that  chance  opened  to  her.  But  no  gate  opened  except 
the  one  she  had  deliberately  put  into  the  keeping  of  La 
Corriveau  ! 

It  was  in  this  mood  she  waited  and  watched  for  the 
return  of  her  bloody  messenger.  She  heard  the  cautious 
foot  on  the  stone  steps.  She  knew  by  a  sure  instinct  whose 
it  was,  and  rushed  down  to  admit  her. 

They  met  at  the  door,  and  without  a  word  spoken,  one 
eager  glance  of  Angelique  at  ^he  dark  face  of  La  Corri- 
veau, drank  in  the  whole  fatal  story.  Caroline  de  St. 
Castin  was  dead  !     Her  rival  in  the  love  of  the  Intendant 


A  DEED  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 


493 


was  beyond  all  power  of  rivalry  now  !  The  lofty  doors  of 
ambitious  hope  stood  open :  what  !  to  admit  the  queen  of 
beauty  and  of  society  ?  No  !  but  a  murderess  who  would 
be  for  ever  haunted  with  the  fear  of  justice  !  It  seemed  at 
this  n.oment  as  if  the  lij^hts  had  all  gone  out  in  the  palaces 
and  royal  halls,  where  her  imagination  had  so  long  run 
riot,  and  she  saw  only  dark  shadows,  and  heard  inarticu- 
late sounds  of  strange  voices  babbling  in  hi  r  ear.  It  was 
the  unspoken  words  of  her  own  troubled  thoughts  and  the 
terrors  newly  awakened  in  her  soul ! 

Angelique  seized  the  hand  of  La  Corriveau  not  with- 
out a  shudder.  She  drew  her  hastily  up  to  her  chamber 
and  thrust  her  into  a  chair.  ]^Iacing  both  hands  uj^on  the 
shoulders  of  La  (Jorriveau  she  looked  wildly  in  her  f.ice,  ex- 
claiming in  a  half  exultant,  half  piteous  tone  :  "  Is  it  done  ? 
Is  it  really  done  ?  I  read  it  in  your  eyes  !  I  know  you 
have  done  the  deed  !     O  !  La  Corriveau  !  " 

The  grim  countenance  of  the  woman  relaxed  into  a 
half  smile  of  scorn  and  surprise  at  the  unexpected  weakness 
which  she  instantly  noted  in  Angelicpie's  manner. 

''  Yes  !  It  is  done  !  "  replied  she,  coldly,  "  and  it  is  well 
done!  But,  by  the  manna  of  St.  Nicholas!"  exclaimed 
she,  starting  from  the  chair  and  drawing  her  gaunt  fig- 
ure up  to  its  full  height,  while  her  black  eyes  shot  daggers, 
"  you  look,  Mademoiselle,  as  if  you  repented  its  being 
done !     Do  you  ? " 

"  Yes!  No  !  No,  not  now  !  "  replied  Angelique,  touched 
as  with  a  hot  iron.  "  I  will  not  repent  now  it  is  done  ! 
that  were  folly,  needless,  dangerous,  now  it  is  done  !  But 
is  she  dead  ?  Did  you  wait  to  see  if  she  were  really  dead  } 
People  look  dead  sometimes  and  are  not !  Tell  me  truly, 
and  conceal  nothing  !  " 

"  La  Corriveau  does  not  her  work  bv  halves.  Made- 
moiselle,  neither  do  you;  only  you  talk  of  repentance 
after  it  is  done,  I  do  not  !  that  is  all  the  difference  !  Be 
satisfied  ;  The  lady  of  Beaumanoir  is  dead  !  I  made  doubly 
sure  of  that,  and  deserve  a  double  reward  from  you  !  " 

"  Reward  I  You  shall  have  all  you  crave  !  But  what  a 
secret  between  you  and  me  !  "  Angelique  looked  at  La 
Corriveau  as  if  this  thought  now  struck  her  for  the  first 
time.  She  was  in  diis  woman's  power.  She  shivered  from 
head  to  foot.  "•'  Your  rewartl  for  this  night's  work  is  here," 
faltered  she,  placing  her  hand  over  a  small  box.  She  did  not 


m 


II 


fei. 


i 


494 


7V/E  CiriEN'  D'OR. 


touch  it,  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  Ijurn  her.  It  was  heavy 
with  pieces  of  gold.  "They  are  uncounted,"  continued 
siie.     '*  Take  it,  it  is  all  yours  !  " 

La  Corriveau  snatched  the  ht)x  off  the  table,  and  held 
it  to  her  bosom.  Ani;elique  continued,  in  a  monotonous 
tone,  as  one  conning  a  lesson  by  rote:  "  Use  it  prudently. 
Do  not  stem  to  the  world  to  be  suddenly  lich  ;  it  might  be 
inquired  into.  I  have  thought  of  everything  during  the 
past  night,  and  I  remember  1  had  to  tell  you  tiiat  when  I 
gave  you  the  gold  !  Use  it  prudently  !  Something  else, 
too,  I  was  to  tell  yon,  but  I  think  not  of  it  at  this  moment  " 

"Thanks,  and  no  thanks,  Mademoiselle  !  "  replied  La 
Corriveau  in  a  hard  tone.  '*  Thanks  for  the  reward  so  fully 
earned.  No  thanks  for  your  faint  heart  that  robs  me  of 
my  well  earned  meed  of  applause  for  a  work  done  so  artis- 
tically, and  perfectly,  that  La  Brinvilliers,  or  La  Borgia  her- 
self, might  en\y  me,  a  humble  jiaysanne  of  St.  Valier  !  " 

La  Corriveau  looked  j)routlly  up  as  she  said  this,  for 
she  felt  herself  to  be  an\lhing  but  a  humble  paysanne. 
She  nourished  a  secret  pride  in  her  heart  over  the  perfect 
success  of  her  devilish  skill  in  poisoning. 

"  I  give  you  whatever  praise  you  desire,  "  replied  An- 
gelique,  mechanically.  "  Jiut  you  have  not  told  me  how  it 
was  done."  "Sit  down  again  !"  continued  she,  with  a 
touch  of  her  inijjerative  manner,  "  and  tell  me  all  and 
every  incident  of  what  you  have  done." 

"  You  will  not  like  to  hear  it !  Better  be  content  with 
the  knowledge  that  your  rival  was  a  dangerous  and  a 
beautiful  one."  Ange'Iique  looked  up  at  this.  "  Better  be 
content  to  know  that  she  is  dead,  without  asking  any  more." 

"  No  !  vou  shall  tell  me  evervthin<j:.  I  cannot  rest 
unless  I  know  all  !  " 

"  Nor  after  you  do  know  all  will  you  rest !  "  replied 
La  ('orriveau,  slightingly,  for  she  despised  the  evident 
trepidation  of  Angel ique. 

"  No  matter !  you  shall  tell  me.  I  am  calm  now." 
Angel  ique  made  a  great  effort  to  appear  calm  while  slie 
listened  to  the  tale  of  tragedy  in  which  she  had  played  so 
deep  a  part. 

La  Corriveau  observing  that  the  gust  of  passion  was 
blown  over,  sat  down  in  the  chair  opposite  Angelique,  and 
placing  one  hand  on  the  knee  of  her  listener  as  if  to  hold 
her  fast,  began  the  terrible  recital. 


.^Iptfi^ 


A  DEED  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 


495 


Int 


IS 

Id 
d 


A  flood  of  words,  pent  up  in  her  l)osom,  sought  for 
utterance  to  a  Ustening,  sympathetic  ear.  La  Corriveau  was 
a  woman  in  that  respect ;  and,  althoui^h  usually  moody  and 
silent,  a  great  occasion  made  her  pour  out  iier  soul  in 
torrents  of  speech  like  fiery  lava.  She  spoke  powerfully  and 
terribly. 

She  gave  Angelique  a  graphic,  minute,  and  not  untrue 
account  of  all  she  h.id  done  at  IJeaumanoir,  dwelling  wilh 
fierce  unction  on  the  marvellous  and  sudden  effects  of  the 
Aqua  Ih/anii,  not  sparing  one  detail  of  the  beauty  and 
innocent  looks  of  her  victim  ;  and  repeating,  wilh  a  mock- 
ing laugh,  the  deceit  she  had  practised  upon  her  with 
regard  to  the  bouquet,  as  a  gift  from  the  Intcndant. 

Angelique  listened  to  the  terrible  tale,  drinking  it  in 
with  eyes,  mouth,  and  ears.  Her  countenance  changed  to 
a  mask  of  ugliness,  wonderful  in  one  by  nature  so  fair  to 
see.  Cloud  followed  cloud  over  her  face  and  eyes  as  the 
dread  recital  went  on,  and  her  imagination  accompanied  it 
with  vivid  pictures  of  every  jihase  of  the  diabolical  crime. 

When  La  Corriveau  described  the  presentation  of  the 
bouquet  as  a  gift  of  Bigot,  and  the  deadly  sudden  effect 
which  followed  its  joyous  acceptance,  the  thoughts  of  Caro- 
line in  her  white  robe,  stricken  as  by  a  thunderbolt,  shook 
Angelique  with  terrible  emotion.  Ikit  when  La  Corriveau, 
coldly  and  with  a  bitter  spite  at  her  softness,  described 
with  a  sudden  gesticulation,  and  eyes  piercing  her  through 
and  through,  the  strokes  of  the  poignard  upon  the  lifeless 
body  of  her  victim,  Angelique  sprang  up,  clasped  her  hands 
together,  and,  wilh  a  cry  of  woe,  fell  senseless  upon  the 
floor. 

"  She  is  useless  now  !  "  said  La  Corriveau,  rising  and 
spurning  Angelique  with  her  foot.  '*  1  deemed  she  had 
courage  to  equal  her  wickedness.  She  is  but  a  woman 
after  all — doomed  to  be  the  slave  of  some  man  through 
life,  while  aspiring  to  connnand  all  men  !  It  is  not  of  such 
flesh  th  t  La  Corriveau  is  made  !  '' 

La  Corriveau  stood  a  few  moments,  reflecting  what  was 
best  to  be  done. 

All  things  considered,  she  decided  to  leave  Angelique 
to  come  to  of  herself,  while  she  made  the  best  of  her  way 
back  to  the  house  of  Mere  Malheur,  wilh  the  intention  which 
she  carried  out,  of  returning  to  St.  Valier  with  her  infa- 
mous reward  that  very  day. 


496 


THE  CiriEN  D'OR. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 


"let's  talk  of  gravks  and  worms  and  epitaphs." 


'■ .  >! 


%  \ 


\ 


i'l 


ABOUT  the  hour  that  La  Corriveau  emerged  from  the 
gloomy  woods  of  IJcauport,  on  her  return  to  the  city, 
the  night  of  the  murder  of  Caroline,  two  horsemen  were 
battering  at  full  speetl  on  the  highway  that  led  to  Charle- 
bourg.  Their  dark  figures  were  irrecognizable  in  the  dim 
moonlight.  They  rode  fast  and  silent,  like  men  having 
important  business  before  them,  which  demanded  haste  ; 
business  which  both  fully  understood  and  cared  not  now  to 
talk  about. 

And  so  it  was.  Bigot  and  Cadet,  after  the  exchange  of 
a  few  words  about  the  hour  of  midnight,  suddenly  left  the 
wine,  the  dice,  and  the  gay  company  at  the  palace,  and 
mounting  their  horses  rode,  unattended  by  groom  or  valet, 
in  the  direction  of  Beaumanoir. 

Bigot,  under  the  mask  of  gaiety  and  indifference,  had 
felt  no  little  alarm  at  the  tenor  of  the  royal  despatch,  and 
at  the  letter  of  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour  concerning 
Caroline  de  St.  Castin. 

The  proximate  arrival  of  Caroline's  father  in  the  colony 
was  a  circumstance  ominous  of  trouble.  The  Baron  was 
no  trifier,  and  would  as  soon  choke  a  prince  as  a  beggar,  to 
revenge  an  insult  to  his  personal  honor  or  the  honor  of  his 
house. 

Bigot  cared  little  for  that,  however.  The  Intendant 
was  no  coward,  and  could  brazen  a  thing  out  with  any  man 
alive.  But  there  was  one  thing  which  he  knew  he  could  not 
brazen  out  or  fight  out,  or  do  anything  but  miserably  fail 
in,  should  it  come  to  the  question.  He  had  boldly  and 
wilfully  lied  at  the  Governor's  council  table — sitting  as  the 
King's  councillor  among  gentlemen  of  honor — when  he 
declared  that  he  knew  not  the  hiding-place  of  Caroline  de 
St.  Castin.  It  would  cover  him  with  eternal  disgrace,  as  a 
gentleman,  to  be  detected  in  such  a  flagrant  falsehood. 
It  would  ruin  him  as  a  courtier  in  the  favor  of  the  great 
Marquise,  should  she  discover  that,  in  spite  of  his  denials 


"LETS  TALK  OF  GRArES,"  ETC. 


497 


of  the   fact,  he  had  harbored   and  concealed   the  missing 


}  >' 


\% 


lady  in  his  own  chateau 

Bi^(^t  wis  sorely,  perplexed  over  this  turn  of  alTairs. 
He  uttered  a  thousand  curses  upon  all  concerned  in  it, 
excepting  upon  Caroline  herself,  for  altiiough  vexed  at  her 
coming  to  him  at  all,  he  could  not  fnul  it  in  his  hearl  lo 
curse  her-  lUil  cursing  f)r  blessing  availed  noliiiiig  n>)vv. 
Time  was  pressing,  and  he  must  act. 

That  Caroline  would  be  sougiit  after  in  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  land,  he  knew  full  well,  from  the  character 
of  La  Corne  St.  I.uc,  and  of  her  father.  His  own  chateau 
would  not  be  sjjared  in  the  general  search,  and  he  doubteil 
if  the  secret  chamber  would  remain  a  secret  from  the  kcv  n 
eyes  of  these  men.  He  surmised  that  others  knew  of  it.s 
existence  besides  himself  ;  old  ser\itors,  and  women  who 
had  passed  in  and  out  of  it  in  times  gor^e  by.  Dame 
Tremblay,  who  did  know  of  it,  was  not  to  be  trusted  in  a 
great  temptation.  She  was  in  heart  the  charnjing  Jo-^e- 
phine  still,  and  could  be  bribed  or  seduced  by  .my  one 
who  bid  high  enough  for  her. 

Bigot  had  no  trust  whate\er  in  human  nature.  He  felt 
he  had  no  guarantee  against  a  discover),  farther  than 
interest  or  fear  barred  the  door  against  inquiry.  He  could 
not  rely  for  a  moment  upon  the  inviolability  of  his  own 
house.  La  Corne  St.  Luc  would  demand  to  search,  and 
he,  bound  by  his  declarations  of  noncomplicity  in  the 
abduction  of  Caroline,  could  offer  no  reason  for  refusal 
without  rousing  instant  sus])icion,  and  La  Corne  was  too 
sagacious  not  to  fasten  upon  the  remotest  trace  of  Caro- 
line, and  follow  it  up  to  a  complete  discovery. 

She  could  not,  therefore,  remain  longer  in  the  chateau 
— this  was  absolute,  and  he  must,  at  whatever  cost  and 
whatever  risk,  remove  her  to  a  fresh  place  of  concealment, 
until  the  storm  blew  over,  or  some  other  means  of  escape 
from  the  present  difficulty  offered  themselves  in  the  chap- 
ter of  accidents,  which  Bigot  had  more  faith  in  than  in 
any  chapter  of  the  Old  or  New  Testament,  which  only 
taught  him  to  do  right  and  trust  God. 

In  accordance  with  this  design.  Bigot,  under  pretence  of 
business,  had  gone  oil  the  very  next  day  after  tiie  meeting 
of  the  Governor's  Council,  in  the  direction  of  the  Three 
Rivers,  to  arrange  wit,i  a  band  of  Montagnais,  whom  he 
could  rely  upon,  for  the  reception  of  Caroline,  in  the  dis- 


498 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


guise  of  an  Indian  j^irl,  with  instructiojis  to  remove  their 
wi<j^\vains  ininu-diatuly  and  take  her  off  with  them  to  the 
wild  leinoic  valley  of  the  St.  Maurice. 

The  old  Indian  chief,  eai»;er  to  obli*;e  the  Intendant, 
had  assented  willingly  to  his  proposal,  promisinjj^  the  gen- 
tlest treatment  of  the  lady,  and  a  silent  tongue  concerning 
her. 

Higot  was  impressive  in  his  commands  ujx)n  these 
poiius,  and  the  chief  pledged  his  faith  upon  them,  delight- 
ed hcyoiid  measure  by  the  promise  of  an  ample  supply  of 
powder,  blankets,  and  provisions  for  his  tribe,  while  the 
Intendant  added  an  abundance  of  all  such  delicacies  as 
could  Ix;  forwarded,  for  the  use  and  comfort  of  the  lady. 

To  carry  out  this  scheme  without  observation,  Bigot 
needed  the  help  of  a  trusty  friend,  one  whom  he  could 
thoroughly  rely  ujxin,  to  conxey  Caroline  secretly  away 
from  Beaumanoir,  and  place  her  in  the  keeping  of  the 
Montagnais,  as  well  as  to  see  to  the  further  execution  of 
his  wishes  for  her  concealment  and  good  treatment. 

Bigot  had  many  friends, — men  living  on  his  bounty, 
who  ought  only  to  have  been  too  happy  to  obey  his  slight- 
est wishes — friends  bound  to  him  by  disgraceful  secrets, 
and  common  interests,  and  pleasures.  But  he  could  trust 
none  of  them  with  the  secret  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin. 

He  felt  a  new  and  unwonted  delicacy  in  regard  to  her. 
Her  name  was  dear  to  him,  her  fame  even  was  becoming 
dearer.  To  his  own  surprise  it  troubled  him  now,  as  it 
had  never  troubled  him  before.  He  would  not  have  her 
name  defiL'd  in  tiie  mouths  of  such  men  as  drank  his  wine 
daily  and  nightly,  and  disputed  the  existence  of  any  virtue 
in  woman. 

Bigot  ground  his  teeth  as  he  muttered  to  hiniself — 

"  'I'hey  might  make  a  mock  of  whatever  other  woman 
they  pleased.  He,  himself,  could  out-do  them  all  in  coarse 
ribaldry  of  the  sex,  but  they  should  not  make  a  mock,  and 
flash  obscene  jests  at  the  mention  of  Caroline  de  St. 
Castin  !  They  should  never  learn  her  name.  He  could 
not  trust  one  of  them  with  the  secret  of  her  removal. 
And  yet  some  one  of  them  must  per  force  be  entrusted 
with  it  1 " 

He  conned  over  the  names  of  his  associates  one  by 
one,  and  one  by  one  condemned  them  all  as  unworthy  of 
confidence  in  a  matter  where  treachery  might  possibly  be 


*' LET'S  TALK  OF  GRAVES;'  ETC. 


499 


ing 


lid 
al. 
ed 


made  more  profitable  than  fidelity.  Bi;:jot  was  false  him- 
self to  the  lu-arl's  core,  and  bflii'ved  in  no  man's  truth. 

He  was  an  acute,  jud;j;e  of  men.  He  ri^ail  their  niotives, 
their  bad  ones  especially,  with  the  accuracy  of  a  Mephisto- 
philes,  and  with  the  same  cold  contempt  for  every  trace  of 
virtue. 

"  Varin  was  a  cunning  knave,''  he  said  ;  "  ambitious  of 
the  support  of  the  church.  Conununing  with  his  aunt,  the 
superior  of  the  Ursulines,  whom  he  deceived,  and  who 
was  not  without  liojie  of  himself  one  day  rising  to  be  In- 
tendant.  He  woukl  place  no  such  secret  in  the  keeping 
of  Varin!" 

"  Tenisault  was  a  sordid  do^.  He  would  cheat  the 
Montagnais  of  his  gifts,  and  so  discontent  them  with  their 
charge.  He  had  neither  courage  nor  spirit  for  an  adven- 
ture. He  was  in  his  right  place  superintending  the  coun- 
ters of  the  I'riponne.  He  despised  Penisault,  while  glad 
to  use  him  in  the  basest  offices  of  the  Grand  Company." 

"  Le  Mericier  was  a  pick-thank,  angling  after  the  favor 
of  La  Pompadour — a  pretentious  knave,  as  hollow  as  one 
of  his  own  mortars.  He  suspected  him  of  being  a  spy  of 
hers  upon  himself.  Le  Mericier  would  be  only  too  glad 
to  send  La  Pompadour  red  hot  information  of  such  an 
important  secret  as  that  of  Caroline,  and  she  would  reward 
it  as  good  service  to  the  king  and  to  herself." 

"  JDeschenaux  was  incapable  of  keeping  a  secret  of 
any  kind  when  he  got  drunk,  or  in  a  passion,  which  was 
every  day.  His  rapacity  reached  to  the  very  altar.  He 
would  rob  a  church,  and  was  one  who  would  rather  take 
by  force  than  favor.  He  would  strike  a  Montagnais  who 
would  ask  for  a  blanket  more  than  he  cheated  him  with. 
He  would  not  trust  Deschenaux. 

"  De  Pean,  the  quiet  fox,  was  wanted  to  look  after 
that  desperate  gallant  Le  (jardeur  de  Repentigny,  who 
was  still  in  the  palace,  and  must  be  kept  there  by  all  the 
seductions  of  wine,  dice  and  women,  until  we  have  done 
with  him.  De  Pean  was  the  meanest  spirit  of  them  all. 
He  would  kiss  my  foot  in  the  morning  and  sell  me  at 
night  for  a  handful  of  silver,"  said  Bigot.  '*  Villains  every 
one  of  them,  who  would  not  scruple  to  advance  their  own 
interests  with  La  Pompadour  by  his  betrayal  in  telling  her 
such  a  secret  as  that  of  Caroline's." 

"  De    Repentigny  had  honor   and  truth  in  him,    and 


Ill 


.500 


THE  CIIIEiV  D'OR. 


could  be  entirely  trusted  if  he  promised  to  servo  a  friend. 
JUiL  IJi^^^ot  (l.m-d  not  n;inie  to  him  ;i  matter  of  this  kind. 
He  would  spurn  it,  drunk  as  lie  was.  He  was  still  in  all  his 
instincts  a  j^entleman  and  a  soldier.  He  could  only  be 
used  by  Hi^jjol,  tiu-ou;;h  an  abuse  of  his  r.oblest  qualities. 
He  dared  not  broach  such  a  scheme  to  Le  (lardeur  de 
Kepenti^ny  !  " 

Amon;^  his  associates  there  was  but  one  who,  in  spite 
of  his  brutal  manners  and  coarse  speech,  perhaps  because 
of  these,  l)i;;()l  would  trust  as  a  friend,  to  helj)  him  in  a 
serious  emer<;eney  like  the  present 

Cadet,  the  Conuuissary  (leneral  of  New  France,  was 
faithful  to  IJi^ot  as  a  fiei;cc  bull  dog  to  his  master.  Cadet 
was  no  h\poc:rite,  nay,  he  may  have  ai;)peared  to  be  worse 
than  in  reality  he  was.  He  was  bold  and  outspoken, 
rapacious  of  other  men's  <jjoods,  and  as  prodigal  of  his 
own.  Clever  withal,  fearless,  and  fit  for  any  bold  enter- 
prise. He  ever  allowed  himself  to  be  guided  by  the 
superior  intellect  of  Bigot,  whom  he  regarded  as  the 
prince  of  good  fellows,  and  swore  by  him,  profanely 
enough,  on  all  occasions,  as  the  shrewdest  head  and  the 
quickest  hand  to  turn  over  money  in  New  France. 

Jligot  could  trust  Cadet.  He  had  only  to  whisper  a 
few  words  in  his  ear  to  sec  him  jump  up  from  the  table 
where  he  was  playing  cards,  dash  his  stakes  with  a  sweep 
of  his  hand  into  the  lap  of  his  antagonist,  a  gift  or  a  for- 
feit, he  cared  not  which,  for  not  finishing  the  game.  In 
three  minutes  Cadet  was  booted,  with  his  heavy  riding- 
whi(i  in  Ills  hand  ready  to  mount  his  horse  and  accomjjany 
Bigot  "  to  IJeaumanoir  or  to  Hell ! "  he  said,  ""  if  he  wanted 
to  go  there." 

In  the  short  space  of  time,  while  the  grooms  saddled 
their  horses.  Bigot  drew  Cadet  aside  and  e\|)lained  to  him 
the  situation  of  his  affairs,  informing  him  in  a  few  words, 
who  the  lady  was,  who  lived  in  such  retirement  in  the 
chateau,  and  of-  his  denial  of  the  fact  before  the  Council 
and  Governor.  He  told  him  of  the  letters  of  the  king 
and  of  La  Pompadour  respecting  Caroline,  and  of  the 
necessity  of  removing  her  at  once  far  out  of  reach  before 
the  actual  search  for  her  was  begun. 

Cadet's  cynical  eyes  flashed  in  genuine  sympathy  with 
Bigot,  and  he  laid  his  heavy  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and 
uttered  a  frank  exclamation  of  admiration  at  his  ruse  to 
cheat  La  Pompadour  and  La  Galissoniere  both. 


"LETS  TALK'  OF  CRAl'F.S:'  ETC. 


SOI 


"  By  St.  Picot  !  "  said  he,  "  I  would  rather  ^o  without 
dinner  for  a  month  than  you  should  not  liavc  asked  nie, 
lJif;f)t,  to  hrlp  you  but  of  this  scrape.  What  if  you  did 
lie  to  tliat  (ly-calcliin^  l)etiL;ar  at  the  Castle  of  Si.  I.ouis, 
who  has  not  conscience  to  t  ilce  a  dishonest  sliver  from  a 
cheating  All)anv  Dutchman  !  Where  was  the  iiarm  in  it  ? 
J{etter  lie  to  liiin  tlian  tell  the  truth  to  La  Pompadour 
about  that  L^irl  !  I\Ljail !  Madame  l''i>Ii  would  serve  yf)U  as 
the  Irocjuois  served  my  fat  cK'rk  at  C'houaLj<'n — make 
roast  meat  of  you  if  she  knew  it  '.  Such  a  pother  about  a 
girl.  Damn  the  women!  always!  I  say  liigot  I  A  man  is 
never  out  of  hot  water  when  he  h;is  to  do  with  them  !" 

C'adet  was  an  habitual  scorner  of  women.  He  was 
always  glad  to  shun  them,  or  get  rid  of  them  ;  but  on  the 
present  occasion  he  saw  clearly  that  Higot's  position  was 
fatally  compromised  unless  he  got  well  out  of  this  affair  of 
Caroline  St.  de  Castin. 

Striking  J>igot's  hand  hard  with  his  own,  he  promised, 
"  wet  or  dry,  through  flood  Oi  ,.e,  to  ride  with  him  to 
Beaumanoir,  and  take  the  girl,  or  lady  ! — he  begged  the 
Intendant's  pardon — and  by  such  ways  as  he  alone  knew, 
he  would,  in  two  days,  i)lace  her  safely  among  the  Mon- 
tagnais,  and  order  them  at  once,  without  an  hour's  delay,  to 
pull  up  stakes  and  remove  their  wigwams  to  the  Tnqiie^i  the 
St.  Maurice,  where  Satan  himself  could  not  find  her.  .\nd 
the  girl  might  remain  there  for  seven  years  without  ever 
being  heard  tell  of,  by  any  white  person  in  the  colony." 

]3i":ot  and  Cadet  rode  rapifllv  forward  until  thev  came 
to  the  dark  forest,  where  the  faint  outline  of  road,  barely 
visible,  would  tlrive  perplexed  IJigot  to  have  kept  it  alone 
in  the  night.  IJut  C'adet  was  born  in  Charlebourg  ;  he 
knew  every  path,  glade,  and  dingle  in  the  forest  of  Beau- 
manoir, and  rode  on  without  drawing  bridle. 

BiiTot,  in  h.is  fierv  eagerness,  had  hitlierto  ridden  fore- 
most.  Cadet  now  led  the  way,  dashing  luuler  the  boughs 
of  the  great  trees  that  overhung  the  road.  The  tramp  of 
their  horses  woke  the  echoes  of  the  woods.  But  they 
were  not  long  in  reaching  the  park  of  Beaumanoir. 

They  saw  before  them  the  tall  chimney  stacks,  and  the 
hiilh  roofs  and  the  white  walls  of  the  Chateau,  looking 
spectral  enough  m  the  wan  moonlight — ghostly,  silent, 
and  ominous.  One  light  only  was  visible  in  the  porter's 
lodge,  all  else  was  dark,  cold  and  sepulchral, 


502 


THE  CHIEN  nOR. 


The  old  watchful  porter  at  the  gate  was  instantly  on 
foot  to  see  who  came  at  that  hour,  and  was  surprised 
enough  at  sight  of  his  master  and  the  Sicur  Cadet,  without 
retinue,  or  even  a  groom  to  accompany  them. 

They  dismounted  and  tied  their  horses  outside  the  gate. 
"Run  to  the  chateau,  Marcele,  without  making  the  least 
noise."  said  Bigot.  "Call  none  of  the  servants,  but  rap 
gently  at  the  door  of  Dame  Tremblay.  IJid  her  rise 
instantly,  witiiout  waking  anyone.  Say  the  Intendant  de- 
sires to  see  her.     I  expect  guests  from  the  city." 

"  I  hate  to  lie  even  to  servants  !  "  said  IJigot  indignantly. 
"  No  one  knows  what  inquiries  may  be  made  !  No  weed 
that  grows  is  so  prolific  in  mullipHcation  as  a  lie  !  A  weed 
will  fill  the  world,  and  a  lie  will  fill  the  universe  with  its 
progeny,  unless  it  be  clioked  in  time." 

"  Well  !  "  said  Cadet,  "  I  do  not  care  to  He  often, 
Bigot!  because  truth  hits  your  enemy  harder  than  lies! 
When  it  does  not,  I  see  no  harm  in  a  round  shot  of  a  lie,  if 
it  will  hurt  the  more!  " 

The  porter  returned  with  the  information  that  Dame 
Tremblay  had  got  up,  and  was  ready  to  receive  His 
Excellency. 

Bidding  old  Marcele  take  care  of  the  horses,  they 
walked  across  the  lawn  to  the  chateau,  at  the  door  of 
which  stood  Dame  Tremblav  hastilv  dressed,  courtseving 
a!id  trem.bling  at  this  sudcUm  summons  to  receive  the 
Intendant  and  Sieur  Cadet. 

"  Good  night,  Dame  !"  said  Bigot  in  a  low  tone,  "con- 
duct us  instantlv  to  the  Grand  Galierv  !  " 

"  O  your  Excellency  !  "  replied  the  Dame,  courtseying, 
"  I  am  your  humble  servant  at  all  times,  day  and  night,  as 
it  is  mv  dutv  and  mv  lileasure  to  serve  mv  master  !  " 

"  Well  then  !  "  replied  Bigot  impatiently,  '*  let  us  go  in 
and  make  no  noise." 

The  three — Dame  Tremblay  leading  the  way  with  a 
candle  in  each  hand,  passed  up  the  broad  stair  and  into 
the  gallery  communicating  with  the  apartments  of  Caroline. 
The  Dame  set  her  candles  on  the  table  and  stood  with  her 
hands  across  her  apron,  in  a  submissive  attitude  waiting 
the  orders  of  her  master. 

"  Dame!  "  said  he,  "I  think  you  are  a  faithful  servant, 
I  have  trusted  you  with  much  !  can  I  trust  you  with  a 
greater  matter  still  .^" 


LET'S  TALK  OF  CRAVES;'  ETC. 


503 


ig 


111 

a 
0 


or 

£3 


la 


"  O,  your  Excellency  !  I  would  die  to  serve  so  noble 
and  generous  a  master!     It  is  a  servant's  dutv!" 

*•  Few  servants  think  so  !  nor  do  I !  But  you  have  been 
faithful  to  your  charge  respecting  this  pror  lady  within, 
have  you  not  Dame  ?"  Bigot  looked  as  if  his  eyes  searched 
her  \'ery  vitals. 

"()  Lord!  O  Lord  !"  thought  the  Dame  turning  pale. 
"  He  has  heard  about  the  visit  of  that  cursed  Mere  Mal- 
heur, and  he  has  come  to  hang  me  up  for  it  in  the  gal- 
lery! "  She  stanunered  out  in  reply,  "()  yes!  I  have  been 
faithful  to  my  charge  about  the  huly,  your  Excellency  !  I 
have  not  failed  wilfully  or  negligently  in  any  one  point,  I 
assure  you  I  I  have  been  at  once  careful  and  kind  to  her 
as  you  bade  me  to  be,  your  P^xcellency  !  Indeed  I  could 
not  be  otherwise  to  a  live  angel  in  the  house  like  her  !  " 

"So  I  believe,  Dame!''  said  Bigot  in  a  tone  of  ap- 
proval, that  quite  lifted  her  heart.  This  spontaneous  praise 
of  Caroline  touched  him  somewhat,  "  You  have  done  well ! 
Now  can  you  keep  another  secret,  Dame !  " 

"  A  secret !  and  entrusted  to  me  bv  vour  Excellencv  !  " 
replied  she  in  a  voice  of  wonder,  at  such  a  question.  "The 
marble  statue  in  the  grotto  is  not  closer  than  I  am,  your 
Excellency.  I  was  always  too  fond  of  a  secret  ever  to  jkii  t 
with  it !  When  I  was  the  charming  Josephine  of  Lake 
Beauport  1  never  told,  even  in  confession,  wiio  tl.ov  were 
who—" 

"Tut!  I  will  trust  you  Dame,  better  than  I  would  have 
trusted  the  charming  Josephine  !  If  all  tales  be  true,  ycni 
were  a  gay  giil,  Dame,  and  a  handsome  one  in  those  days, 
I  have  heard !"  added  the  Intendanl  witii  well  planned 
flattery. 

A  smile  and  a  look  of  intelligence  between  the  Dame  and 
Bigot,  followed  this  sally,  while  Cadet  had  much  to  do 
to  keep  in  one  of  the  hearty  horse  laughs  he  used  to  in- 
dulge in,  and  which  would  have  roused  the  whole  chateau. 

The  fl;ittery  of  the  Intendant  c[uite  captivated  the 
Dame.  "I  will  go  through  fire  and  water  to  serve  your 
Excellencv,  if  vou  want  me,"  said  she,  '*  what  shall  I  do  to 
oblige  your  Excellency?" 

"  Well,  Dame  you  must  know  then,  that  the  Sieur  Cadet 
and  I  have  come  to  remove  that  dear  lady  from  the 
chateau  to  another  place,  where  it  is  needful  for  her  to  go 
for  the  present  time  ;  and  if  you  are  questioned  about  her, 


i 


L 


504 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


mind  you  are  to  say  she  never  was  here,  and  you  know 
nothinjj^  of  her !  " 

"  I  will  not  only  say  it,"  replied  the  Dame  with  prompt- 
ness, "  I  will  swear  it  until  I  am  black  in  the  face,  if  you 
comniaid  me  your,  Excellency!  Poor  dear  lady!  may  I 
not  ask  wheie  she  is  j^oin^?" 

"No  !  she  will  be  ail  riirht  !  I  will  tell  vou  in  due  time. 
It  is  needful  for  people  to  change  sometimes  you  know, 
Dame  !  Vou  comprehend  that  1  Vou  had  to  manage  mat- 
ters discreetly  when  you  were  the  charming  Josephine  !  I 
dare  say  you  had  to  change  too  sometimes!  Every  woman 
has  an  intrigue  once  at  least,  in  her  lifetime,  and  wants  a 
change.  But  this  lady  is  not  clever  like  the  charming 
Jos'phine,  therefore  we  have  to  be  clever  for  her!" 

'I'he  Dame  laughed  prudently  yet  knowingly  at  this, 
while  liigot  continued  :  "  Now  you  understand  all  !  Go  to 
her  chamber.  Dame  !  Present  our  compliments  with  our 
regrets  for  disturbing  her,  at  this  hour.  Tell  her  that  the 
Intend  uu  and  the  Sieur  Cadet  desire  to  see  her  on  impor- 
tant business." 

Dame  'Premblay  with  a  broad  smile  all  over  her  coun- 
tenance at  her  master's  jocular  allusions  to  the  charming 
Josephine,  left  at  once  to  carry  her  message  to  the  chamber 
of  Caroline. 

Siie  passed  out,  while  the  two  gentlemen  waited  in  the 
gallery,  liigot  anxious  but  not  doubtful  of  his  influence  to 
persuade  the  gentle  girl  to  leave  the  chateau,  Cadet  coollv 
resolved  that  she  nuist  go  whether  she  liked  it  or  no!  Wt 
would  banish  every  woman  in  New  France  to  the  Tuque  of 
the  St.  M  uirice  had  he  the  power,  in  order  to  rid  himself 
and  liigot  of  the  eternal  mischief  and  trouble  of  them  1 

Neither  Pigot  nor  Cadet  spoke  for  some  minutes  afrer 
the  tleparture  of  the  Dame.  They  listened  to  her  foot- 
steps as  the  sound  of  tht-m  died  away  in  the  distant  rooms, 
where  one  door  opened  after  another  as  she  passed  on  to 
the  secret  chamber. 

"  She  is  now  at  the  door  of  Caroline  !  "  thought  Bigot  as 
his  imagination  followed  Dame  Tremblay  on  her  errand. 
"She  is  now  speaking  to  Jier  !  I  know  Caroline  will  make 
no  delay  to  admit  us  !  "  Cadet  on  his  side  was  very  quiet 
and  car  less  of  ought  save  to  take  the  girl,  and  get  her 
safelv  awav  before  davbreak. 

A   few    moments   of    heavy   silence    and   expectation 


"LET'S  TALK'  OF  GRAVES;'  ETC. 


5^5 


er 
t- 

Ito 


passed  over  them.  The  howl  of  a  distant  watch  doj^  was 
heard  and  all  was  again  still.  The  low  monotonous  licking 
of  the  great  clock  at  the  head  of  the  gallery  made  the 
silence  still  more  oppressive.  It  seemed  to  be  measuring 
off  eternity,  not  time. 

The  hour,  the  circumstance,  the  brooding  stillness, 
waited  for  a  cry  of  murder  to  ring  through  the  chateau, 
waking  its  sieejiers  and  bidding  tliem  come  and  see  the 
fearful  tragedv  that  lav  in  the  secret  chamber. 

But  no  crv  came.  Fortunatelv  for  Bijiot  it  did  not ! 
The  discovery. of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  under  such  cir- 
cumstance's would  have  closed  his  career  in  Ncv;  France, 
and  ruined  him  forever  in  the  favor  of  the  Court. 

Dame  Tremblay  returned  to  her  master  and  Cadet  with 
the  information  "  that  the  lady  was  not  in  her  bed  cham- 
ber, but  had  gone  tlown,  as  was  her  wont,  in  the  still  hours 
of  the  night,  to  pray  in  her  oratory  in  the  secret  chamber, 
where  she  wished  never  to  be  disturbed. 

"  Well,  Dame  !  "  replied  Bigot,  ''  you  may  retire  to  your 
own  room  !  I  will  go  down  to  the  secret  chamber  myself. 
These  vigils  are  killmg  her!  poor  girl !  If  your  lady  should 
be  missing  in  the  morning,  remember  Dame  !  that  you 
make  no  remark  of  it,  she  is  going  away  to  night  with  me 
and  the  Sieur  Cadet  and  will  return  soon  again  !  so  be 
discreet  and  keep  your  tongue  well  bi  tween  your  teeth, 
which  I  am  glad  to  observe,"  remarkeel  he  with  a  smile, 
"are  still  sound  and  white  as  ivory!" 

Bigot  wished  by  such  flattery  to  secure  her  fidelity,  and 
he  fully  succeeded.  The  compliment  to  her  teeth  was 
more  agreeable  than  would  have  been  a  purse  of  money. 
It  caught  the  Dame  with  a  hook  there  was  no  escape  from. 

Dame  Tremblay  courtseyed  very  low,  and  smiled  very 
broadly  to  show  her  really  good  teeth  of  which  she  was 
extravagantly  vain.  She  assured  the  Intendint  of  her 
perfect  discretion  and  obedience  to  all  his  conunands. 

"Trust  to  me,  your  Excellency!  "  said  she  with  a  pro- 
found courtesy.  "  I  ne\er  deceived  a  gentleman  yet, 
except  the  Sieur  Tremblay,  and  he,  good  man,  was  none  ! 
When  I  was  the  charming  Josephine  and  .il'  the  gay 
gallants  of  the  city  used  to  flatter  and  spoil  me,  I  never 
deceived  one  of  them  !  never!  I  knew  that  all  is  van'ty  in 
this  world,  but  my  eyes  and  teeth  were  considered  very  fine 
in  those  days,  your  Excellency  !  " 


So6 


THE  CIIIEND'OR, 


"And  are  yet,  Dame!  Zounds  I  Lake  Beauport  has 
had  nothing  to  equal  them  since  you  retired  from  business 
as  a  beauty  !  But  mind  my  orders,  Dame  !  keep  quiet  and 
you  will  please  me  !     Good  night.  Dame  !  " 

"Good  night,  Your  Excellency  !  good  night,  your  Hon- 
or!" replied  she,  flushed  with  gratified  vanity.  She  left 
Bigot  vowing  to  herself  that  he  was  the  finest  gentleman 
and  the  best  judge  of  a  woman  in  New  France  !  The 
Sieur  Gadet  she  could  not  like.  He  never  looked  pleasant 
on  a  woman,  as  a  gentleman  ought  to  do ! 

The  Dame  left  them  to  themselves,  and  went  off  trip- 
pingly in  high  spirits  to  her  own  chamber,  where  she 
instantly  ran  to  the  mirror  to  look  at  her  teeth  !  and  made 
faces  in  the  glass,  like  a  foolish  girl  in  her  teens. 

JJigot  out  of  a  feeling  of  delicacy  not  usual  with  him, 
bid  Gadet  wait  in  the  anteroom  while  he  went  forward  to 
the  secret  chamber  of  Garoline.  "  The  suddeii  presence 
of  a  stranger  might  alarm  her,"  he  said. 

He  descended  the  stair  and  knocked  softly  at  the  door, 
calling  in  a  low  tone  "Garoline!  Garoline!"  No  answer 
came !  He  wondered  at  that,  for  her  quick  ear  used 
always  to  catch  the  first  sound  of  his  footsteps  while 
yet  afar  off. 

He  knocked  louder,  and  called  again  her  name.  Alas  1 
he  might  have  called  for  ever  !  that  voice  would  never  make 
her  heart  flutter  again  or  her  eyes  brighten  at  his  footstep, 
that  sounded  sweeter  than  any  music  as  she  waited 
and  watched  for  him,  always  ready  to  meet  him  at  the 
door. 

Bigot  anticipated  something  wrong !  and  with  a  hasty 
hand  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  secret  chamber  and 
went  in !  A  blaze  of  light  filled  his  eyts  !  a  white  form  lay 
upon  the  floor.  He  saw  it  and  he  saw  nothing  else  !  She 
lay  there  with  her  unclosed  eyes  looking,  as  the  dead  only 
look  at  the  living.  One  hand  was  pressed  to  her  bosom, 
the  other  was  stretched  out,  holding  the  broken  stem 
and  a  few  green  leaves  of  the  fatal  bouquet  which 
La  Gorriveau   had   not   wholly  plucked   from    her  grasp. 

Bigot  stood  for  a  moment  stricken  dumb,  and  trans- 
fixed with  horror,  then  sprang  forward  and  knelt  over  her 
with  a  cry  of  agon  v.  He  thought  she  might  have  fallen  in 
a  swoon,  he  touched  her  pale  forehead,  her  lips,  her  hands. 
He  felt  her  heart,  it  did  not  beat ;  he  lifted  her  head  to  his 


"LET'S  TALK  OF  GRAVES;'  ETC. 


507 


bosom,  it  fell  like  the  flower  of  a  lily  broken  on  its  stem, 
and  he  knew  she  was  dead  !  He  saw  the  red  streaks  of 
blood  on  her  snowy  robe,  and  he  saw  she  was  murdered  ! 

A  long  cry  like  the  wail  of  a  man  in  torture  burst  from 
him.  It  woke  more  than  one  sleeper  in  the  distant 
chambers  of  the  chateau,  making  them  start  upon  their 
pillows  to  listen  for  another  cry,  but  none  came.  Bigot 
was  a  man  of  iron  ;  he  retained  self-possession  enough  to 
recollect  the  danger  of  rousing  the  house. 

He  smothered  his  cries  in  suffocating  sobs,  but  they 
reached  the  ear  of  Cadet,  who,  foreboding  some  terrible 
catastrophe,  rushed  into  the  room  where  the  secret  door 
stood  open.  The  light  glared  up  the  stair.  He  ran  down 
and  saw  the  Intendanton  his  knees,  holding  in  his  arms  the 
half  raised  form  of  a  woman  which  he  kissed  and  called 
by  name  like  a  man  distraught  with  grief  and  despair. 

Cadet's  coarse  and  immovable  nature  stood  him  in  good 
stead  at  this  moment.  He  saw  at  a  glance  what  had  hap- 
pened. The  girl  they  had  come  to  bear  away  was  dead  ! 
How."*  He  knew  not ;  but  the  Intendant  must  not  be  suf- 
fered to  make  an  alarm.  There  was  danger  of  discovery 
on  all  sides  now,  and  the  necessity  of  concealment  was  a 
thousand  times  greater  than  ever.  'I'here  was  no  time  to 
question,  but  instant  help  was  needed.  In  amaze  at  the 
spectacle  before  him.  Cadet  instantly  flew  to  the  assistance 
of  the  Intendant. 

He  approached  Bigot  without  speaking  a  word,  although 
his  great  eyes  expressed  a  look  of  sympathy  never  seen 
there  before.  He  disengaged  the  dead  form  of  Caroline  ten- 
derly  from  the  embrace  of  Bigot,  and  laid  it  gently  upon 
the  floor,  and  lifting  Bigot  up  in  his  stout  arms,  whis- 
pered hoarsely  in  his  ear:  ''  Keep  still.  Bigot  !  keep  still  1 
not  one  word  !  make  no  alarm  !  This  is  a  dreadful  busi- 
ness, but  we  must  go  to  another  room  to  consider  calmly, 
calmly,  mind,  wiiat  it  means  and  what  i;  to  be  done." 

"O,  Cadet!  Cadet!"  moaned  the  Intendant,  still  rest- 
ing on  his  shoulder,  "  She  is  dead  !  dead  !  when  I  just 
wanted  her  to  live  1  I  have  been  hard  with  women,  but  if 
there  was  one  I  loved,  it  was  she  who  lies  dead  before  me  I 
Who  !  who  has  dv)ne  this  bloody  deed  to  me.-*  " 

"Who  has  done  it  to  her,  you  mean  !  you  are  not  killed 
yet,  old  friend,  but  will  live  to  revenge  this  horrid  busi- 
ness! "  answered  Cadet  with  rough  sympathy. 


t 

I 


So» 


THE  CIIIEN'  D'OR. 


I 
111 


"I  would  give  my  life  to  restore  hers  !  "  replied  Bigot, 
despairingly.  "  O,  Cadet!  you  never  knew  what  was  in 
my  heart  about  this  girl !  and  how  I  had  resolved  to  make 
her  reparation  for  the  evil  I  had  done  her  ! " 

"  Well,  I  can  guess  what  was  in  your  heart,  Bigot.  Come 
old  friend,  you  are  getting  more  calm,  you  can  walk  now  ! 
Let  us  go  up  stairs  to  consider  what  is  to  be  done  about  it. 
Damn  tiie  women  !  they  are  man's  torment  whether  alive 
or  dead  !  " 

Bigot  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his  own  tumultuous 
feelings  to  notice  Cadet's  remark.  He  allowed  himself  to 
be  led  without  resistance,  to  another  room,  out  of  sight  of 
the  murdered  girl,  in  whose  presence  Cadet  knew  cahn 
council  was  impossible. 

Cadet  seated  Bigot  on  a  couch  and  sitting  beside  him, 
bade  him  be  a  man  and  not  a  fool  !  He  tried  to  rouse 
Bigot  by  irritating  him,  thinking  in  his  coarse  way,  that 
that  was  better  than  maudlin  over  him,  as  he  considered 
it,  with  vain  expressions  of  sympathy. 

"  T  would  not  give  way  so,"  said  he,  "  for  all  the 
woni.  .1  in  and  out  of  Paradise!  and  vou  are  a  man,  IJigot  ! 
RLMiiember  you  have  brought  me  here,  and  you  have  to 
take  me  safely  back  again,  out  of  this  den  of  murder." 

''  Yes,  Cadet,"  replied  I^igot  rousing  himself  up  at  the 
sharp  tone  of  his  friend,  "  I  must  think  of  your  safety,  I 
care  little  for  my  own  at  this  moment.     Think  for  me." 

"Well  then,  I  will  think  for  you,  and  I  think  this, 
Bigot,  that  if  the  Governor  finds  out  this  assassination, 
done  in  your  house,  and  that  you  and  I  have  been  here  at 
this  hour  of  night,  with  the  murdered  girl,  by  Cod  !  he  will 
say  we  have  alone  done  it !  and  the  world  will  believe  it !  so 
rouse  up,  I  for  one  do  not  want  to  be  taxed  with  the  mur- 
der of  a  woman,  and  still  less  hang  iimocently  for  the 
death  of  one.  1  would  not  risk  my  little  finger  for  all 
the  women  alive  !  let  alone  my  neck  for  a  dead  one  !  " 

The  suggestion  was  like  a  sharp  probe  in  his  flesh.  It 
touched  Bigot  to  the  quick.  He  started  up  on  his  feet ; 
"  You  are  right.  Cadet,  it  only  wants  that  accusation  to 
make  me  go  mad  !  liut  my  head  is  not  my  own  yet  !  I  can 
think  of  nothing  but  her  Iving  there,  dead  in  her  loveliness 
and  in  her  love!  Tell  me  what  to  do,  and  I  will  do  it." 

"  Aye,  now  j^ou  talk  reasonably.  Now  you  are  coming 
to  yourself.  Bigot.     We  can:L*  to   remove   her  alive   from 


''LET'S  TALK  OF  GRAVES;'  ETC. 


509 


to 


,1 


lis. 


It 

i 

10 

Lll 


In 


here,  did  we  not  ?  \Vc  must  now  remove  her  dead.  She 
cannot  remain  where  slie  is  at  the  risk  of  certain  discovery 
tomorrow." 

"No,  the  secret  cliamber  would  not  iiide  such  a  secret 
as  that,"  replied  Bigot,  recovering  his  self-possession,  "but 
how  to  remove  her,''  we  cannot  carry  her  forth  without 
discover}'."  Bigot's  practical  intellect  was  waking  up  to 
the  danger  of  leaving  the  murdered  girl  in  the  chateau. 

Cadet  rose  and  paced  the  room  with  r;ij)id  strides,  rub- 
bing his  forehead,  and  twitching  his  moustache  violently, 
"  I  will  tell  you  what  we  have  got  to  do,  liigot !  Par  Dicn  ! 
we  must  bury  her  where  she  is,  down  there  in  the  vaulted 
chamber." 

"  What,  bury  her  !  "  Bigot  looked  at  him  with  intense 
surprise. 

"  Ves,  we  must  bury  her  in  that  very  chamber.  Bigot. 
We  must  cover  up  somebody's  damnable  work  to  avert 
suspicion  from  ourselves  !  A  pretty  task  for  you  a, id  me, 
Bigot!  l\xr  Dicu  !  I  could  laugh  like  a  horse,  if  I  were 
not  afraid  of  beinir  overheard." 

*'  l>ut  \\ho  is  to  dig  a  grave  for  her  ?  surely  not  you  or 
I,"  replied  Bigot  with  a  look  of  dismay. 

"  Yes,  gentlemen  as  v/e  are,  you  and  I  must  do  it.  Bigot. 
Zounds!  1  learned  to  dig  and  delve  when  I  was  a  stripling 
at  Charlebourg,  and  in  the  trenches  at  Louisbourg,  and  I 
have  not  yet  forgotten  the  knack  of  it  1  But  where  to  get 
spades,  Bigot,  you  are  master  here,  and  ought  to  know?  " 

"  I,  how  should  I  know.''  It  is  terrible.  Cadet,  to  bury 
her  as  if  we  had  nnn-dered  her !   Is  there  no  other  way  ?  " 

"  None.  We  are  in  a  cahot,  and  must  get  our  cariole 
out  of  it  as  best  we  can  !  I  sqe  plainly  we  two  shall  be 
taxed  with  this  murder.  Bigot,  if  we  let  it  be  discovered  ! 
Besides,  utter  ruin  awaits  you  from  La  Pompadour  if  she 
find  out  you  ever  had  this  girl  at  Beaumanoir  in  keeping. 
Come !  time  for  jxirley  is  past  ;  where  shall  we  tind 
spades  ? — we  must  to  work.  Bigot !  " 

A  sudden  thought  lighted  up  the  eyes  of  the  Intendant, 
who  saw  the  force  of  Cadet's  suggestion,  strange  and 
repulsive  as  it  was.  "I  think  I  know,"  said  he,  "  the 
gardeners  keep  their  tools  in  the  old  tower,  and  we  can 
get  there  by  the  secret  passage  and  return." 

"Bravo!"  exclaimed  Cadet,  encouragingly,  *' come, 
show   the  way,   and  we  will  get  the  tools  in  a  trice  !    I 


\ 


510 


THE  CIIJEN  D'OR. 


always  heard  there  was  a  private  way  under  ground  to  the 
old  tower.  It  never  stood  its  master  in  better  stead  than 
now  ;  perhaps  never  worse  if  it  has  let  in  the  murderer  of 
this  poor  girl  of  yours." 

Bigot  rose  up,  very  faint  and  weak ;  Cadet  took  his 
arm  to  support  him,  and  bidding  him  be  firm  and  not  give 
way  again  at  sight  of  her  dead  body,  led  him  back  to  the 
chamber  of  death.  "  Let  us  first  look  around  a  moment," 
said  he,  "  tc  find^  if  possible,  some  trace  of  the  hellish 
assassins." 

The  lamps  burned  brightly,  shedding  a  glare  of  light 
over  every  object  in  the  secret  cliamber. 

Cadet  looked  narrowly  round,  but-  found  little  trace  of 
the  murderers.  The  drawers  of  the  escritoire  stood  open, 
with  their  contents  in  great  disorder,  a  circumstance  which 
at  once  suggested  robbers.  Cadet  pointed  it  out  to  Bigot 
with  the  question  : 

"Kept  she  much  money.  Bigot?" 

"  None  that  I  know  of.  She  asked  for  none,  poor  girl ! 
I  gave  her  none,  though  I  would  have  given  her  the  king's 
treasury  had  she  wished  for  it." 

"  But  she  might  have  had  money  when  she  came, 
Bigot,"  continued  Cadet,  not  doubting  but  robbery  had 
been  the  motive  for  the  murder. 

"It  may  be,  I  never  questioned  her,"  replied  Bigot, 
"  she  spoke  never  of  money  ;  alas !  all  the  money  in  the 
world  was  as  dross  in  her  estimation.  Other  things  than 
money  occupied  her  pure  thoughts." 

"  Well,  it  looks  like  robljers  ;  they  have  ransacked  the 
drawers  and  carried  off  all  she  had,  were  it  much  or  little," 
remarked  Cadet,  still  continuing  his  search. 

"But  why  kill  her.?  O,  Cadet ;  why  kill  the  gentle 
girl .''  wiio  would  have  given  every  jewel  in  her  posses- 
sion for  the  bare  askiuii !  " 

"  Nay,  I  cannot  guess,"  said  Cadet,  "  it  looks  like  rob- 
bers, but  the  mystery  is  beyond  my  wit  to  explain  ;  what 
are  you  doing,  Bigot  ?  " 

Bigot  had  knelt  down  by  the  side  of  Caroline  ;  he  lift- 
ed her  hand  first  to  his  lips,  then  towards  Cadet,  to  show 
him  the  stalk  of  a  rose  from  which  the   flower  had  been 

held   with   a  grip  so  hard  that  it 
;  loosened  from  her  dead  fingers. 
men  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  it,  but  failed 


broken,  and  which  she 


"LET'S  TALK'  OF  GRArES;'  ETC 


S" 


laii 


to  make  a  conjecture  even,  why  tlic  flower  had  been  plucked 
from  that  broken  stalk  and  carried  away,  for  it  was  not  to 
be  seen  in  the  room. 

The  fragment  of  A  letter  lay  under  a  chair.  It  was  a 
part  of  that  which  La  Corriveau  had  torn  up  and  missed 
to  gather  up  again  with  the  rest.  Cadet  picked  it  up  and 
thrust  it  into  his  pocket. 

The  blood  streaks  upon  her  white  robe  and  the  visi- 
ble stabs  of  a  fine  poinard  riveted  their  attention.  That 
that  was  the  cause  of  her  death  they  doubted  not,  but  the 
mute  eloquence  of  her  wounds  sjioke  only  to  the  heart. 
It  gave  no  explanation  to  the  intellect.  The  whole  tragedy 
seemed  wrapped  in  inexplicable  mystery. 

"They  have  covered  their  track  up  well!"  remarked 
Cadet.  "Hey!  but  what  have  we  here?"  Bigot  started 
up  at  the  exclamation.  The  door  of  the  secret  passage 
stood  open.  La  Corriveau  had  not  closed  it  after  her 
when  making  her  escape.  Here  is  where  the  assassins 
have  found  entrance  and  exit !  Egad  !  more  people  know 
the  secret  of  your  chateau  than  you  think,  Bigot  !  " 

They  sprang  forward,  and  each  seizing  a  lamp,  the  two 
men  rushed  into  the  narrow  passage.  It  was  dark  and 
still  as  the  catacombs.  No  trace  of  anything  to  the  pur- 
pose could  they  perceive  in  the  vaulted  subterranean  way 
to  the  turret. 

They  speedily  came  to  the  other  end,  the  secret  door 
there,  stood  open  also.  They  ascended  the  stairs  in  the 
tower  but  could  see  no  trace  of  the  murderers.  "  It  is 
useless  to  search  farther  for  them  at  this  time,"  remarked 
Cadet,  "  perhaps  not  safe  at  any  time,  but  I  would  give  my 
best  horse  to  lay  hands  on  the  assassins  at  this  moment  !  " 

Gardener's  tools  lay  round  the  room,  "  Here !  ex- 
claimed Cadet,  is  what  is  equally  germane  to  the  matter, 
and  we  have  no  time  to  lose." 

He  seized  a  couple  of  spades  and  a  bar  of  iron  and 
bidding  l\\  ot  go  before  him  with  the  lights,  they  returned 
to  the  chamber  of  death. 

"  Now  for  work  !  This  sad  business  must  be  done 
well,  and  done  quickly!"  exclaimed  Cadet,  "you  shall 
see  that  I  have  not  forgotten  how  to  dig.  Bigot  !  " 

Cadet  threw  off  his  coat,  and  setting  to  work  pulled  up 
the  thick  carpet  from  one  side  of  the  chamber.  Tlie  floor 
was  covered  with   broad   smooth  flags,  one  of  which  he 


512 


THE  CIIIF.N  JTOR. 


attacked  with  llic  iron  bar,  raised  tlic  flaj:;  stone  and  turned 
it  over,  another  easily  followed  and  very  soon  a  space  in 
the  dry  brown  earth  was  exposed,  large  enouj^h  to  make  a 
grave. 

I'ij^ot  looked  at  him  in  a  sort  of  dream.  '*  I  cannot  do 
it,  Cadet !  I  cannot  di;:;  her  <j;rave  !  "  and  he  threwdown  the 
spade  which  he  had  taken  feebly  in  his  hand. 

"  No  matter,  liig(U  I  I  will  do  it  !  indeed  you  would 
onlv  be  in  my  wav.  Sit  down  while  I  diLT.  old  fric'nd.  J\ir 
DicH  !  this  is  nice  work  for  the  Commissary  (General  of 
Njw  France,  with  the  Royal    Intendmt  overseeinjj  him  !  " 

I>ij;ot  sat  down,  and  looked  forlornly  on,  while  Cadet 
with  the  arms  of  a  Hercules,  dut:;  and  duij,  throwing  out 
the  earth  without  stopping,  for  the  space  of  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,  until  he  had  made  a  grave  large  and  deep  enough  to 
contain  the  body  of  the  hapless  girl. 

"That  will  do  ! "'  cried  he,  leaping  out  of  the  pit.  "The 
sexton  of  Charlebourg  could  not  ha\e  made  a  nicer  bed 
to  sleep  in  !  Our  funeral  arrangements  must  be  of  the 
briefest,  liigot  !  So  come  help  me  to  shroud  this  poor  girl, 
who  I  hope  will  forgive  her  rough  undertaker  for  doing  his 
best  to  make  a  woman  lie  comfortable  in  her  last  bed  !  ". 

Cadet  found  a  sheet  of  linen  and  some  fine  blankets 
upon  a  couch  in  the  secret  chamber.  He  spread  them  out 
upon  the  floor,  and  motioned  to  Uigot,  without  speaking. 
The  two  men  lifted  Caroline  tenderly  and  reverently  upon 
the  sheet.  They  gazed  at  her  for  a  minute  in  solemn 
silence,  before  shrouding  her  fair  face,  and  slender  form 
in  their  last  winding  sheet.  Bigot  was  overpowered  with 
his  feelings  yet  strove  to  master  them,  as  he  gulped  down 
the  rising  in  his  throat,  which  at  times  almost  strangled 
him. 

Cadet,  eager  to  get  his  painful  task  over,  took  from  the 
slender  finger  of  Caroline,  a  ring,  a  love  gift  of  liigot,  and 
from  her  neck  a  golden  locket  containing  his  portrait  and 
a  lock  of  his  hair.  A  rosary  hung  at  her  waist, — this  Cadet 
also  detached,  as  a  precious  relic  to  be  given  to  the  Intend- 
ant  bv  and  bve.  There  was  one  thread  of  silk  woven  into 
the  coarse  hempen  nature  of  Cadet. 

]Jigot  stooped  down  and  gave  her  pale  lips  and  eyes, 
which  he  had  tenderly  closed,  a  last  despairing  kiss,  before 
veiling  her  face,  with  the  winding  sheet  as  she  lay,  white 
as  a  snow  drift,  and  as  cold.     They  wrapped  her  softly  in 


"LETS  TALK'  OF  GRAVES;'  ETC. 


513 


the  blankets  and  without  a  word  spoken,  lowered  the  still 
lissom  body  into  its  rude  grave. 

The  awful  silence  was  only  broken  by  the  spism  )dic 
sobs  of  Bigot  as  he  leaned  o\cr  the  grave  to  look  his  list 
upon  the  form  of  tlu'  fair  girl  whom  he  had  bjtraye  I  and 
brought  to  this  untimely  end  !  Mca  Culpa  !  Mca  Mitxi'na 
Culpa I^''  said  he,  beating  his  breast.  "O  Cadet!  we  are 
burying  her  like  a  dog  !   I  cannot,  I  cannot  do  it  I  " 

The  Intendanl's  feelings  overc^ame  him  again,  and  he 
rushed  from  the  chamber,  while  Cadet  glad  of  his  absence 
for  a  few  moments,  hastily  filled  up  the  grave  and  repl  ic- 
ing with  much  care,  the  stone  slabs  over  it,  svept  the 
debris  into  the  passage,  and  spread  the  carpet  again 
smoothly  over  the  lloor.  luery  trace  of  tlie  dreadful  deed 
was  obliterated  in  the  chamber  of  murder. 

The  secret  chamber  looked  again  as  if  nothing  strange 
or  horrible  had  hajipened  in  it.  Just  so  the  sea,  when 
its  smooth  waters  close  o\er  a  man  wiio  sinks  into  its  col  1 
bosom.  A  splash,  a  few  circles  of  agitation,  and  all  isovjr 
and  out  of  sight ! 

Cadet  acutely  thinking  of  everyth'ng  at  this  supreme 
moment  would  leave  no  ground  of  suspicion  for  Dame 
Tremblay  when  she  came  in  the  morning  to  visit  the  cham- 
ber. She  should  think  that  her  ladv  hatl  gone  awav  with 
her  master,  as  mysteriously  as  she  had  come,  and  no 
further  inquiry  would  be  made  after  her.  In  this  CJadet 
was  right. 

Buried  in  this  unconsecrated  earth,  with  no  requiem 
sung  for  her  last  repose,  no  prayer,  no  sprinkling  save  the 
tears  which  dropped  heavily  from  the  eyes  of  BigtJl,  and 
which,  could  she  have  been  conscious  of,  Caroline  would 
have  prized  more  than  the  water  of  Jordan  poured  over 
her  grave  !  No  bell  tolled  for  her.  There  was  no  chant  of 
priest  or  lifting  of  the  sacrament  for  the  dead,  but  un- 
knelled,  uncoffined,  and  unknown  save  to  Cod  only,  and 
these  two  men,  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  slept  and  still 
sleeps  in  the  dust  of  the  deep  foundations  of  the  Chateau 
of  Beaumanoir. 

It  was  necessary  for  Cadet  and  Bigot  now  to  depart  by 
the  secret  passage  to  the  tower.  The  deep  toned  bell  of 
the  chfiteau  struck  three.  Its  solemn  voice  seemed  tc 
bring  with  it  the  cold  shuddering  breatli  of  approaching 
morn. 

33 


i! 


SH 


THE  C///F.JV  D'OR. 


"We  must  now  be  j^one,  Bipjot !  and  instantly !"  ex- 
clainu'd  Cadt-t.  "Our  ni^ht  work  is  done!  Let  us  see 
what  day  will  brin>;  forth  !  you  must  see  to  it  to-morrow, 
Bigot  !  that  no  man  or  woman  alive  ever  again  enter  this 
accursed  chamlur  of  deafh  !  " 

Cadet  fastened  tlie  secret  door  of  the  stair  and  gather- 
ing up  his  spades  and  bar  of  iron  left  the  chainl>er  with 
Bigoi  who  •  passive  as  a  child  in  his  hands.  The 
Inlcndant  ti  d  round  and  gave  one  last  sorrowful  look 
at  the  now  cLiikiMu-d  room  as  they  left  it.  Culet  and  he 
made  their  way  back  to  the  tower.  They  sallied  out  into  the 
open  air  which  blew  fresh  and  reviving  upf)n  their  fevered 
faces,  after  escaping  from  the  sliding  atmosphere  below. 

They  proceeded  at  once  towards  their  horses  and 
mounted  tliein,  but  Higot  felt  deadly  faint  and  halted  under 
a  tree,  while  Cadet  rode  back  to  the  Porter's  lodge,  and 
roused  up  (^Kl  Marcele  to  give  him  some  brandv,  if  he  had 
any,  "as  of  course  he  had,"  said  ("adet.  "  IJrandy  was  a 
gale  porter's  inside  liver)',  the  lining  of  his  laced  coat 
which  he  always  wore."  Cadet  assumed  a  levity  which  he 
did  not  really  feel. 

Marcele  fr  mately  could  oblige  the  Sieur  Cadet.  "  He 
did  line  his  v  a  little,  but  lightly,  as   his  honor  would 

see  1"  said  he       'iging  out  a  bottle  of  cognac,  and  a  drink- 
ing cup. 

"  It  is  to  keep  us  from  catching  cold  !  "  continued  Cadet 
in  his  peculiar  way,  "  Is  it  good?  "  He  placed  the  bottle  to 
his  lips  and  tasted  it. 

Marcele  assured  him  it  was  good  as  gold. 

"  Right !  "  said  Cadet,  throwing  Marcele  a  Louis  d'or, 
"I  will  take  the  bottle  to  the  Intendant  to  keep  him  from 
catching  cold,  too!  mind,  Marcele!  you  keep  your  tongue 
still,  or  else — !  "  Cadet  held  up  his  whip,  and  bidding  the 
porter  "good  night!"  rejoined  Digot. 

Cadet  had  a  crafty  design  in  this  proceeding.  He 
wanted  not  to  tell  Marcele  that  a  lady  was  accompanying 
them  ;  also  not  to  let  him  perceive  that  they  left  Ikiaumanoir 
without  one.  He  feared  that  the  old  Porter  and  D.une 
"^remblay  might  possibly  compare  notes  together,  and  the 
housekeeper  discover  that  Caroline  had  not  left  Beaumanoir 
with  the  Intendant. 

Bigot  sat  faint  and  listless  in  his  saddle  when  Cadet 
poured  out  a  large  cupful  of  brandy  and  offered  it  to  him. 


** LET'S  TALK'  OF  GRAVES,"  ETC, 


S^^ 


lie  drank  it  ca;;erly,  ('aclct  then  filled  and  jjulpcd  down  a 
large  cupful  himself,  tJien  jj;ave  another  to  the  Intendant, 
and  poured  another  and  another  for  himself  until  he  said 
he  *'  be^an  to  feel  warm  and  comfortable,  and  ;;ot  the  dam- 
nable taste  of  ^ra\e  di^;i;in<i  out  of  his  mouth  !  " 

The  heavv  drauiiht  which  Cadet  forced  the  Intendant 
to  take  relieved  him  somewhat,  but  he  {rioiinetl  inwardly 
and  would  not  speak.  Cadet  respecteil  his  mood,  only 
biddin*;  him  ride  fast.  'I'hey  spurred  their  horses,  and  rode 
swiftly  unobserved  by  any  one,  until  they  entered  the  gates 
of  the  palace  of  the  Intendant. 

The  arrival  of  the  Intendant  or  of  the  .Sieur  Cadet  at 
the  Palace  at  any  untimely  hour  of  the  ni^^ht  excited  no 
remark  whatever,  for  it  was  the  rule,  rather  than  tho 
exception  with  them  both. 

Dame  Treinblay  was  not  surprised  next  morning  to 
find  the  chamber  emjJty  and  her  lady  gone. 

She  shook  her  head  sadly.  "  He  is  a  wild  gallant  is 
my  master  !  No  wilder  ever  came  to  Lake  Heauport,  when 
I  was  the  charming  Josephine  and  all  the  world  ran  after 
me  !  But  1  can  keep  a  secret,  and  I  will  !  This  secret  I 
must  keep  at  any  rate  by  the  IntenduU's  order!  and  I 
would  rather  die  than  be  railed  at  by  that  fierce  Sieur 
Cadet!  I  will  keep  the  Intendant's  secret!  safe  as  my 
teeth  whi(!h  he  praised  so  handsomely  and  so  justly!  " 

And  she  dicl  keep  it  until  years  after  the  conquest  of 
Canada  when  JJigot  was  atoning  in  the  liastile  for  high 
misdemeanors  and  maladministration  as  Intendant  of  New 
France.  Then  did  a  garrulous  old  woman  use  to  babble 
before  her  death  about  the  charming  Josephine  of  Lake 
Beauport,  and  tell  what  she  knew — not  much  after  all — • 
of  the  fate  of  the  unhapjjy  lady,  who  had  either  been 
spirited  away  or  buried  alive  in  the  secret  chamber  of 
Beaumanoir. 

The  fact  that  Caroline  never  returned  to  the  chateau, 
and  that  the  search  for  her  was  so  long  and  so  vainly  car- 
ried on  by  La  Corne  St  Luc  and  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin, 
caused  the  Dame  to  suspect  at  last  that  some  foul  play 
had  been  perpetrated,  but  she  dared  not  speak  openly. 

The  old  woman's  suspicions  grew  with  age  into  cer- 
tainties, when  at  last  she  chanced  to  talk  with  her  old  fel- 
low servant,  Marcele,  the  gate-keeper,  and  learned  from 
him  that  Bigot  and  Cadet  had  left   the  chateau  alone  on 


I 


5x6 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


I 


that  fatal  niQ;ht.  Dame  Tremblay  was  more  perplexed 
than  ever.  She  talked,  she  know  not  what,  but  her  talk 
passed  into  the  tratUtions  of  the  Habilans. 

It  became  a  pojiular  belief  tliat  a  beautiful  woman,  the 
mistress  of  the  |)ow^'rful  Intendant  Hiiijot,  had  been  mur- 
dered and  buried  in  the  C'hateau  of  jk-aumanoir. 

The  secret  chamber  was,  immediately  after  the  tra.2jedy, 
disfurnished  and  shut  up  by  order  of  the  Intendant.  Dame 
Treml)lav  sedulously  avoided  it  ;  she  believed  it  haunted. 

It  was  never  visited,  save  by  Higot,  who,  in  his  after 
career  of  pnetorian  riot  and  extravagance,  sometimes  broke 
off  from  his  couipanions  in  the  heiglit  of  their  revelry,  rode 
out  to  IJeaumanoir,  and  descending  to  the  gloomy  chamber, 
flung  himselJ;  despairingly  upon  the  cold  stone  that  he  had 
sculptured  with  the  solitary  letter  C,  which  covered  the 
dust  of  the  one  woman  who  had  ever  loved  Fran^^ois  Bigot 
for  his  own  sake.  The  only  one  who,  had  she  been  spared, 
might  by  her  sweet  intluenccs  have  made  a  better  and  a 
nobler  man  of  him,  and,  who  knows.''  might  have  checked 
his  career  of  extr.ivagauce  and  corruption,  and  turned  his 
undoubted  talents  to  the  beneht  instead  of  to  the  ruin  of 
New  France  !  Caroline  de  St.  Castin,  had  she  lived,  might 
have  averted  the  conquest  of  the  Colony,  which  was  mainly 
lost  through  the  misgo\ennnent  of  Bigot,  and  his  waste  of 
all  the  public  resources  that  should  have  contributed  to  the 
defence  of  New  France.  But  it  was  not  to  be  !  No  other 
iniluence  for  good  remained  after  the  death  of  the  unfortu- 
nate L'aroline. 

The  storms  of  six  score  winters  have  howled  among  the 
ruitvi  of  Beaumanoir,  of  chateau  Bigot,  as  it  is  now  popu- 
larly called  by  the  habitans,  who  still  look  upon  its  crumb- 
ling walls  with  feelings  of  awe — as  a  place  accursed  in  the 
history  of  their  country. 

All  has  gone  to  ruin.  The  chateau  itself  is  a  pile  of 
destruction.  Its  very  stones  have  been  carted  away  by  the 
peasantry,  save  a  few  stern  old  gables  that  still  brave  the 
elementiv  and  its  thick  massive  foimdations  that  still  pre- 
serve an  oiuline  of  the  great  wicked  edifice.  'i'he  secret 
chamber  itself  lies  uncovered  to  the  sun.  God's  light  streams 
upon  it.  Green  grass  and  wikl  (lowers  tangle  among  its  stone 
heaps  !  the  bird  builds  its  nest,  and  the  hare  makes  its  form 
and  rears  its  voung  above  the  grave  of  Caroline,  now  lost 
under  a  mass  of  debris  and  ruin. 


Ytmm 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS. 


S17 


Old  ^XQ\  men,  still  living^,  remember  a  period  liefore  the 
final  dilapidation  of  the  chateau,  when  darinj;  visitors 
who  ventured  down  into  the  deep  vaults  could  still  see  the 
solitarv  ton.bstone  with  its  one  mvsterious  initial,  the  letter 
C,  carved  upon  it,  all  that  was  left  upon  earth  to  perpetuate 
the  memory  of  the  beautiful  and  unfortunate  Caroline  de 
St.  Castin. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS. 


IT  was  long  before  Ani^elique  came  to  herself  from  the 
swoon  in  which  she  had  been  left  lying  on  the  floor  by 
La  Corriveau.  Fortunately  for  her  it  was  without  dis- 
covery. None  of  the  servants  happened  to  come  to  her 
room  durini;  its  continuance,  else  a  weakness  so  strange  to 
her  usual  hardihood  woukl  have  become  the  city's  talk  be- 
fore night,  and  set  all  its  idle  tongues  conjecturing  or  in- 
venting a  reason  for  it.  Ft  would  have  reacheil  the  ears  of 
Bigot  as  every  spray  of  gossip  did,  and  set  him  thinking, 
too,  more  savagely  than  he  was  yet  doing,  as  to  the  causes 
and  occasions  of  the  murder  of  Caroline. 

All  the  way  back  to  the  palace.  IJigot  had  scarcely 
spoken  a  word  to  Cadet.  His  mind  was  in  a  tumult  of  the 
wildest  conjectures,  and  his  thoughls  ran  to  and  fro  like 
hounds  in  a  thick  brake  darting  in  every  direction  to  find 
the  scent  of  the  game  they  were  in  search  of.  When  they 
reached  the  Palace,  Bigot,  without  speaking  to  any  one, 
passed  through  the  ante-rooms  to  his  own  apartment,  and 
threw  liimself,  dressed  and  ixjotcd  as  he  was,  upon  a  couch, 
where  he  lay  like  a  man  stricken  down  by  a  mace  from  some 
unseen  hand. 

Cadet  h.ul  coarser  ways  of  relieving  himself  from  the  late 
unusual  strain  upon  his  rough  feelings.  He  went  d(}wn  to 
the  billiard  room,  and  joining  recklessly  in  the  game  that 
was  still  kept  up  by  De  Pean,  Le  (iardeur,  and  a  number  of 
wild  associates,  strove  to  drown  all  recollections  of  the  past 
night  at  Beaumanoir  by  drinking  and  gambling  with  more 
tliau  usual  violence  until  far  on  in  the  day. 


Si8 


THE  ClITEN-  D'OR. 


\       I 


Bigot  neither  slept  nor  wished  to  sleep.  The  image  of 
the  murdered  girl  lying  in  her  rude  grave  was  ever  before 
him,  with  a  vividness  so  terrible  that  it  seemed  he  could 
never  sleep  again.  His  thoughts  ran  round  and  round 
like  a  millvvheel,  without  advancing  a  step  towards  a  so- 
lution of  the  mystery  of  her  death. 

He  summoned  up  his  recollections  of  every  man  and 
woman  he  knew  in  the  colony,  and  asked  himself  regarding 
each  one,  the  question,  '*  Is  it  he  who  has  done  this  .-•  Is  it 
she  who  has  prompted  it  ?  and  who  could  have  had  a  motive, 
and  who  not,  to  perpetrate  such  a  bloody  deed?" 

One  imaire  came  nirain  and  again  before  his  mind's  eve 
as  he  reviewed  the  list  of  his  friends  and  enemies,  'i'he 
figure  of  Angelique  aj^pearcd  and  reappeared,  intruding 
itself  between  every  third  or  fourth  personage  which  his 
memory  called  up,  until  his  thoughts  fixed  upon  her  with 
the  maddening  inquiry,  "  Could  Ange'lique  des  Meloises 
have  been  guilty  of  this  terrible  deed  .'*  " 

He  remembered  her  passionate  denunciation  of  the 
Lady  of  Beaumanoir,  her  fierce  demand  for  her  banishment 
by  a  lettrc  de  cachet.  He  knew  her  ambition  and  reckless- 
ness, but  still,  versed  as  he  was  in  all  the  ways  of  wicked- 
ness, and  knowing  the  inexorable  bitterness  of  envy,  and 
the  cruelty  of  jealousy  in  the  female  breast — at  least  in  such 
women  as  he  had  for  the  most  part  had  experience  of — 
Bigot  could  hardly  admit  the  thought  that  one  so  fair  as 
Angelique,  one  who  held  liim  in  a  golden  net  of  fascination, 
and  to  whom  he  hatl  been  more  than  once  on  the  point  of 
yielding,  could  have  committed  so  great  a  crime. 

He  struggled  with  his  thoughts  like  a  man  amid  tossing 
waves,  gro])ing  about  in  the  dark  for  a  plank  to  Moat  upon, 
but  could  Hnd  none.  Still,  in  spite  of  himself,  in  spite  of 
his  violent  asseverations  that  "  it  was  impossible ;''''  in  spite 
of  Cadet's  plausible  theory  of  robbers — which  Bigot  at 
first  seized  upon  as  the  likeliest  explanation  of  the  mystery 
— the  thought  of  Angelique  ever  returned  back  upon  him 
like  a  fresh  accusation. 

He  was  deeply  moved,  and  at  last  almost  alarmed  at  the 
persistence  with  which  the  reflection  of  her  face  went  and 
came,  now  far,  now  near,  like  the  phantasm  of  a  magic 
lantern,  that  haunted  his  most  secret  thoughts. 

He  could  not  accuse  her  yet,  though  something  told 
him  he  might  have  to  do  so  at  last.     He  grew  angry  at  the 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS. 


5^9 


ever  recurring  thought  of  her,  and  turning  his  face  to  the 
wall,  like  a  man  trying  to  shut  out  the  light,  tcsolvcd  to 
force  disbelief  in  her  guilt  until  clearer  testiniDuy  than  his 
own  suspicions  should  "convict  her  of  the  death  of  Caroline. 
And  yet  in  his  secret  soul  he  dreaded  a  discovery  that  might 
turn  out  as  he  feared.  Hut  he  pushed  the  black  thoughts 
aside  ;  he  would  wait  and  watch  for  what  he  feared  to  Jind. 

The  fact  of  Caroline's  concealment  at  Beaum moir,  and 
her  murder  at  the  very  ni'jment  when  the  search  was  ab^ut 
to  be  made  for  her,  placed  Bigot  in  the  cruellest  dilemma. 
Whatever  his  suspicions  might  be,  he  dared  not,  by  word  or 
sign,  avow  any  kntnvledge  ot  Carolines  pre-ieiue,  still  less 
of  her  mysteric^us  murder  in  his  chateau.  Her  grave  had 
been  dug  ;  she  had  been  secretly  buried  o  it  of  huai  m  sight, 
and  he  was  under  bonds  as  for  his  very  life  never  to  let  the 
dreadful  mvsterv  be  discovered  ! 

So  Bigot  lay  on  his  couch,  for  once,  a  weik  an;l  a  fright- 
ened man,  registering  vain  vows  of  vengean -e  agiinst  per- 
sons unknown,  vows  which  he  knew  at  the  mo.nent  were 
empty  as  bubljles,  because  he  dared  not  move  hand  or 
foot  in  the  matter  to  carry  them  out,  or  make  open  accusa- 
tion against  anv  one  of  the  foul  crime.  Waat  th  )u;rhts 
came  to  Bigot's  subtle  mind  were  bjst  known  to  himself, 
but  something  was  suggested  by  the  m  )ckiiig  Devil,  who 
was  never  far  frc^m  him,  and  he  caught  a:i.l  luld  fast  the 
wicked  suggestion  with  a  bitter  laugh.  He  then  grew  sud- 
denly  still  and  said  to  himself,  "  1  will  sleep  on  it  !  "  and 
pillowing  his  head  quietly,  not  in  sleep,  but  in  thoughts 
deeper  than  sleep,  he  lay  till  day. 

Angelique,  who  had  never  in  her  life  swoone;!  before, 
felt,  when  she  awoke,  like  one  returning  to  life  fiO  n  death. 
She  opened  her  eves  wonderinii  where  she  was.  and  half 
remembering  the  things  she  hid  heard  as  thi.igs  she  h  id 
seen — looked  anxiously  around  the  table  for  LiC  )rri\eau. 
She  rose  up  with  a  start  when  she  saw  she  was  gone,  for 
Angelique  recollected  suddenly  that  LiCorriveiu  iuwheld 
the  terrible  secret  which  concerned  her  life  and  peace  for 
evermore. 

The  thing  she  had  so  long  wished  f(X  ..and  prayed  for, 
was  at  last  done  !  Her  rival  was  out  of  the  way  !  But  she 
also  felt  that  if  the  murder  was  discovered  her  own  life  was 
forfeit  to  the  law,  and  the  secret  w.is  in  the  keeping  of  the 
vilest  of  women." 


52< 


rriE  CIIIEX  D'OR. 


A  mountain,  not  of  remorse,  but  of  apprehension,  over- 
whelmed her  for  a  time.  But  An^elique's  mind  was  too 
intensely  seUi.sii,  hard  and  superficial,  to  give  way  to  the 
remorse  of  a  decpjr  nature.  Her  feelings,  such  as  they 
were,  played  like  iiame  on  the  surface  of  her  heart,  but 
never  warmed  it  to  the  core.  She  was  incapable  of  real 
remorse,  and  would  regard  the  world  well  lost  for  sake  of 
herself.  Her  nature  was  too  artificial  to  take  the  tragedy 
very  deeply  to  heart.  No  furies  would  sit  on  her  pillow 
accu-iing  her  of  midnight  iniirder ;  and  she  would  go 
through  life  forgetting,  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  brilliant 
career,  the  bloody  episode  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin. 

Still  the  tidings  of  Caroline's  death  gave  her  a  shock. 
It  was  her  iirst  plunge  into  positive  crime,  and  she  trem- 
bled for  the  consequences.  She  who  had  never  shunned 
manor  woman  before,  felt  like  hiding  herself  now  I 

Slie  was  angry  at  her  own  cowardice,  but  she  feared  the 
suspicions  of  I'igot.  'I'here  was  ever  something  in  his 
dark  nature  which  she  could  not  fa'.hom,  and  deep  and 
crafty  as  she  knew  herself  to  be,  she  feared  that  he  was 
more  deep  and  more  crafty  than  herself. 

What  if  he  should  discover  her  hand  in  this  bloody 
business  }  The  thought  drove  her  frantic,  until  she  fancied 
she  repented  of  the  deed.  But  it  was  self-delusion,  she 
did  not  repent,  she  only  feared  punishment  for  herself. 
Then  she  tried  to  pray,  buc  prayer  stuck  in  her  throat,  and 
then  she  cursed  her  folly,  not  her  cruelty  ;  she  was  too 
hard-hearted  for  that.  Iler  words  came  in  a  flow  of  in- 
vective against  liigot  for  not  removingCaroline  from  Beau- 
manoir,  and  against  Caroline  for  having  come  there  at  all. 
She  cursed  Li  Corriveau  for  shaping  the  evil  desires  of  her 
heart  into  instruments  of  murder — the  poison  and  the  dag- 
ger— and  she  cursed  herself  for  paying  so  terril)le  a  price 
for  the  bare  possibility,  not  the  certainty,  of  bjcoming  the 
wife  of  liigot. 

Had  it  brought  a  certainty,  this  crime,  then — why  then 
— she  had  found  a  comixinsaiion  for  the  risk  s!ie  was  run 
ning,  for  the  pain  she  was  enduring.  w'n\:h  she  tried  to  be- 
lieve was  regret  and  pity  for  her  victim.     Her  anxiety  re 
doubled  when  it  occurred  to  her  that  Big  )i,  remembering 


her 


passionate  appt 


als  to  him  for  the  renuval  of  Caroline, 


might  suspect  her  of  the  niurder  as  the   oi)e  alone  ha\  ing 
a  palpable  interest  in  it. 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS. 


521 


IV' 
)0 

le 

'T 

Lit 
ll 
3f 

y 

o 

t 


"  But  Bigot  shall  never  believe  it  even  if  he  suspect  it  !  " 
exclaimed  she  at  last,  shaking  off  her  fears — "  I  have  made 
fools  of  many  men  for  my  pleasure — I  can  surely  blind  one 
for  mv  safetv — and  after  all,  wh  )se  fault  is  it  but  Bigot's? 
He  would  not  grant  me  the  icttre  i/e  <V7<-//"/,  nor  keep  his 
promise  for  her  removal!  He  even  gave  me  her  life  !  but 
he  lied!  He  did  not  mean  it!  He  loved  her  too  well  and 
meant  to  deceive  me,  and  marry  her,  and  /  have  deceived 
him  and  shall  marry  him,  that  is  all  !  and  Angelique 
laughed  a  hysterical  laugh,  such  as  Dives  in  his  torments 
may  sometimes  give  way  to. 

"  La  Corriveau  has  betrayed  her  trust  in  one  terrible 
point,"  continued  she — '*  she  promised  a  death  so  easy, 
that  all  men  would  sav  the  Ladv  of  Beaumanoir  died 
of  heart  break  only,  or  by  God's  visitation  !  a  natural  death  1 
The  foul  witch  has  used  her  stiletto  and  made  a  murder  of 
that  which  without  it  had  been  none  I  Bigot  will  know 
it,  must  know  it  even  if  he  dare  not  reveal  it !  for  how  in 
the  name  of  all  the  saints  is  it  to  be  concealed  ?  " 

"  But  my  God  !  this  will  never  do  !  "  continued  she  start- 
ing up,  "  I  look  like  very  guilt  I  "  She  stared  fiercely  in  the 
mirror  at  her  hollow  eyes,  pale  cheeks  and  wiiite  lips.  She 
scarcely  recognized  herself.  Her  bloom  and  brightness 
had  vanished  for  the  time. 

"What  if  I  have  inhaled  some  of  the  poisoned  odor  of 
those  cursed  roses  ? ''  thought  she,  shuddering  at  the  suppo- 
sition— but  she  reassured  herself  that  it  could  not  be, 
"Still  my  looks  condemn  me  !  The  pale  face  of  that  dead 
girl  is  looking  at  me  out  of  mine  !  Bigot  if  he  sees  me 
will  not  fail  to  read  the  secret  in  mv  looks. 

She  glanced  at  the  clock — the  morning  was  far 
advanced  towards  neon — visitors  might  soon  arrive — 
Bigot  himself  might  come — she  dare  not  deny  herself  to 
him.  She  would  deny  herself  to  no  one  to-day  !  She  would 
go  everywhere  and  see  every  body — and  show  the  world  if 
talk  of  it  should  arise,  that  she  was  wholly  innocent  of  that 
girl's  blood  ! 

Siie  would  wear  her  brightest  looks — her  gayest  robe — 
her  hat  and  feathers  the  newest  from  Paris.  She  would 
ride  out  into  the  city — go  to  the  Cathedral — show  herself 
to  all  her  friends,  and  make  every  one  say  or  think  that 
Angelique  des  Meloises  had  not  a  care  or  trouble  in  the 
world ! 


522 


THE  CHIEN  nOR. 


She  rang  for  Fanchon,  impatient  to  commence  her 
toilette,  for  when  dressed  siie  knew  that  she  would  feel 
like  herself  once  more,  cool  and  defiant.  The  touch  of  her 
armor  of  f.ishional)le  attire  would  restore  her  confidence 
in  herself,  and  enable  her  to  brave  down  any  suspicion  in 
the  mind  of  the  Jntendant — at  any  rate  it  was  her  only 
resource,  and  Angclique  was  not  one  to  give  up  even  a 
lost  battle — let  alone  one  half  gained,  through  the  death  of 
her  rival — 

Fanchon  came  in  hasto  at  the  summons  of  her  mistress. 
She  had  long  waited  to  hear  the  bell — and  began  to  fear 
she  was  sick  or  in  one  of  those  wikl  moods  which  had 
come  over  her  occasionally  since  the  night  of  her  last  in- 
terview with  Le  Gardeur. 

The  girl  started  at  sight  of  the  pale  face  and  paler  lips 
of  her  mistress.  She  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise — • 
but  Ang('li(iue  anticij^ating  all  questions,  told  her,  "she 
was  unwell,  but  would  dress  and  take  a  ride  out  in  the 
fresh  air  and  sunshine  to  recruit." 

"  But  had  you  not  better  see  the  Physician,  my  Lady  ? 
— you  do  look  so  pale  to-day,  you  are  really  not  well  !  " 

"No,  but  1  will  ride  out,"  and,  she  added  in  her  old 
way,  "perhaps  Fanchon,  I  may  meet  some  one  who  will  be 
better  company  than  the  Physician  ?  Qui  salt  V^  and  she 
laughed  with  an  appearance  of  gaiety  which  she  was  far 
from  feeling,  and  which  only  half  imposed  on  the  quick- 
witted maid  who  waited  upon  her. 

"  Wiicre  is  your  aunt,  Fanchon?  When  did  you  see 
Dame  Dodier  ?  "  asked  she,  really  anxious  to  learn  what 
had  become  of  La  Corriveau. 

"  She  returned  home  this  morning,  my  Lady  !  I  had  not 
seen  her  for  days  before  ;  but  supposed  she  had  already 
gone  back  to  St.  Valier — but  AuPit  Dodier  is  a  strange 
woman,  and  tells  no  one  her  business." 

"  She  has  perhaps  other  lost  jewels  to  look  after  besides 
mine" — reijlied  Angvlique  mechanically,  yet  feeling  easier 
upon  learning  the  departure  of  La  Corriveau. 

"  Perhaps  so,  my  Lady.  I  am  glad  she  is  gone  home, 
I  shall  never  wish  to  see  her  again." 

"Why.''" — asked  Angelique,  sharply — wondering  il 
Fanchon  had  conjectured  anything  of  her  aunt's  business. 

"They  say  she  has  dealings  with  that  horrid  Mere 
Malheur,  and  I  believe  it?  "  replied  Fanchon,  with  a  shrug 
of  disgust. 


iiu'jiiiimi  !«■»»>» 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS. 


523 


"  Ah  !  do  you  think  More  Malheur  knows  her  business 
or  any  of  your  aunt's  secrets,  Fanchon  ?  "  asked  Angelique, 
thoroughly  roused. 

"  I  think  she  does,  my  Lady — you  cannot  live  in  a 
chimney  with  another,  without  both  getting  black  alike, 
and  Mere  Malheur  is  a  black  witch  as  sure  as  mv  aunt  is  a 
white  one,"  was  Fanchon's  reply. 

"What  said  your  aunt  on  leaving?'.'  asked  her  mis- 
tress— 

"  I  did  not  see  her  leave,  my  Lady,  I  only  learned  from 
Ambroise  Gariepy  that  she  had  crossed  the  river  this  morn- 
ing, to  return  to  St.  Valier." 

"  And  who  is  Ambroise  Gariepy,  Fanchon  ?  You  have 
a  wide  circle  of  acquaintance  for  a  young  girl,  I  think  !  " 
AngiHique  knew  the  dangers  of  gossipping  too  well,  not  to 
fear  Fanchon's  imprudences. 

"  Yes,  my  Lady,"  replied  Fanchon  with  affected  sim- 
plicity, "  Ambroise  Gariepy  keeps  the  Lian  Vert  and  the 
Ferry  upon  the  South  Sliore — he  brings  xxii.  news  and 
sometimes  a  little  present  from  the  pick  of  the  Basque 
peddlers — He  brought  me  this  comi),  my  L  idy  !  "  Fanchon 
turned  her  head  to  show  her  mistress  a  suj^erb  comb  in 
her  thick  black  hair,  and  in  \\tx  delight  of  talking  of 
Ambroise  Gariepy,  the  little  Inn  of  the  Ferry  and  the 
cross  that  leaned  like  a  failing  memory  over  the  grave  of 
his  former  wife — -Fanchon  quite  forgot  to  ease  her  mind 
further  on  the  subject  of  La  Corriveau,  nor  did  Angelique 
resume  the  dangerous  topic. 

Fanchon's  easy  shallow  way  of  talking  of  her  lover, 
touched  a  sympathetic  chord  in  the  breast  of  her  mistress. 
Grand  passions  were  grand  follies  in  Angelique's  estima- 
tion, which  she  was  less  capable  of  appreciating  than  even 
her  maid  ;  but  flirtation  and  coquetry,  skin  deep  only,  she 
could  understand  and  relislied  beyond  all  other  enjoy- 
ments. It  was  just  now  like  medicine  to  her  racking 
thoughts  to  listen  to  Fanchon's  shallow  gossip. 

"  She  had  done  what  she  had  done,"  she  reflected,  "  and 
it  could  not  be  undone !  why  should  she  give  way  to 
regret,  and  lose  the  prize  for  which  she  had  staked  so 
heavily  ?  She  would  not  dj  it  !  No,  Ptxr  Di:u  !  She  had 
thrown  Le  Gardeur  to  the  fishes  for  sake  of  the  Luendant, 
and  had  done  that  other  deed  !  She  shied  off  from  the 
thought  of  it  as  from  an  uncouth  thing  in  the  dark,  and 


524 


THE  CHIEN  nOR. 


i 


III 


began  to  feel  shame  of  her  weakness  at  having  fainted   at 
the  tale  of  La  Coniveau. 

The  liiiht  talk  of  Faiiclion  while  dressing  the  longjrolden 
hair  of  her  mistress  and  assisting  her  to  put  on  a  new 
riding  dress  and  the  i)liniied  hat  fresh  from  Paris,  which 
she  had  not  yet  disi^layed  in  public,  did  much  to  restore 
her  equanimity. 

Her  face  had,  however,  not  recovered  from  its  strange 
pallor.  Her  eager  maid  anxious  for  the  looks  of  her 
mistress,  insisted  on  a  little  rouge,  which  Angc'lique's 
natural  bloom  had  never  before  needed.  She  submitted, 
"for  she  intended  to  look  her  best  to-day,"  she  said,  "who 
knows  whom  I  shall  fall  in  with  ?" 

"  That  is  right,  my  Lady,"  exclaimed  Fanchon  admir- 
ingly, "  no  one  could  be  dressed  perfectly  as  you  are  and 
be  sick  !  1  pity  the  gentlemen  you  meet  to-day,  that  is  all  ! 
There  is  murder  in  vour  eve,  mv  Ladv  ! 

Poor  l'"anchon  believed  she  was  only  coinplimenting 
her  mistress,  and  at  other  times  her  remark  would  oidy 
have  called  forth  a  joyous  laugh,  now  the  word  seemed  like 
a  sharp  knife,  it  cut,  and,  Angc-lique  did  not  laugh.  She 
pushed  her  maid  forcibly  away  from  her,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  breakii  gout  into  some  violent  exclamation,  when 
recalled  by  the  ama/ed  look  of  Fanchon — she  turned  the 
subject  adroitly,  and  asked — "  where  is  my  brother  ?  " 

"(jone  with  the  Chevalier  de  Pean  to  the  Palace,  my 
Lady  !  "  replied  Fanchon,  trembling  all  over  and  wondering 
how  she  haJ.  angered  her  mistress. 

"  How  know  you  that,  Fanchon  ?  "  asked  Angelique, 
recovering  her  usual  careless  tone. 

"  I  overheard  them  speaking  together,  my  Lady.  The 
Chevalier  de  Pean  said  thai  the  Intendant  was  sick,  and 
woulil  see  no  one  this  morning.'' 

''.Yes,  what  then?"  Angelique  was  struck  with  a 
sudden  consciousness  of  danger  in  the  wind.  "  Are  you  sure 
they  said  the  lnten<lant  was  sick  ?"  asked  she. 

"  Yes  !  my  Latly,  and  the  Chevalier  de  Pean,  said  that 
he  was  less  sick  th;in  mad,  and  out  of  humor  to  a  degree 
he  had  never  seen  him  before  !  " 

"  Did  they  give  a  reason  for  it  ?    that  is  for  the  Intend- 
ant's  sickness  or   madness  ?  "   Angelique's  eyes  were  fixed 
her  maid,  to  draw  out  a  full  confession. 


IV  upon  ner  main,  to  nraw  out  a  i 

None,  my  Lady  !  only  the  Chevalier  des  Melo 


S/LK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HAXDS. 


525 


at 


10 

id 

a 

re 


he  supposed  it  was  the  news  froin  France  which  sat  so  ill 
on  his  stomach." 

"  And  what  tiien,  F;inchon  ?  you  arc  so  loni;  of  answer- 
ing !  "  Anrr('licjue  stamped  hrr  foot  with  impatieMcc. 

Fanchon  looked  uj)  at  the  reproof  so  little  merited,  and 
replied  quickly — "the  Chevalier  de  Pean  said,  it  must  be 
that  for  he  knew  of  nothint;  else.  The  gentlemen  then 
went  out  and  I  heard  no  more." 

Anj^c'lique  was  relieved  by  this  turn  of  conversation. 
She  felt  certain  that  if  Bi<;ot  discoxered  the  murder  he 
would  not  fail  to  reveal  it  to  the  Chevalier  de  Pean,  who 
was  understood  to  be  the  depositary  of  all  his  secrets.  She 
began  to  cheer  up  under  the  belief  that  Bigot  would  never 
dare  accuse  anyone,  of  a  deed  which  would  be  the  means 
of  proclaiming  iiis  own  falseness  and  duplicity  towards 
the  King  and  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour. 

"  I  have  only  to  deny  all  knowledge  of  it,"  slid  she  to 
herself,  "  swear  to  it  if  need  be!  an(l  Bigot  will  not  dare 
to  go  farther  in  the  matter.  Then  will  come  my  time  to 
turn  the  tables  upon  him,  in  a  way  he  little  expects 3 
Pshaw  !  "  continued  she,  glancing  at  her  gay  hat  in  the 
mirror,  and  with  her  own  dainiv  lingers  setting  the  feather 
more  airily  to  her  liking.  "  Bigot  is  bound  fast  enough  to 
me  now,  that  she  is  gone  !  and  when  he  discovers  that  I 
hold  his  secret  he  will  not  dare  meddle  with  mine." 

It  is  recorded  that  the  Athenians  ignorantly  worshipjied 
the  true  Deity,  under  the  name  of  the  unknown  God. 
Angelique  like  many  in  modern  times  worshipped  heathen 
deities,  in  the  name  of  the  true.  The  Goddess  ignorantly 
worshipped  by  Ang(''lique,  and  who  received  the  first 
offerings  of  her  heart,  was  Venus  Victri.K,  in  the  ioww  of 
herself,  and  no  woman  of  Greece  or  Rome  was  ever  more 
devout  in  the  homage  she  paid  to  the  heathen  shrine. 

Angi'lique,  measureably  reassured  and  hopeful  of  suc- 
cess in  her  desperate  venture,  descended  the  steps  of  her 
mansion,  and  gathering  up  her  robes,  daintily,  mounted  her 
horse,  which  had  long  been  chafing  in  the  hands  of  her 
groom  waiting  for  his  mistress. 

She  bade  the  man  remain  at  home  until  her  return,  and 
dashed  off  down  the  Rue  St.  Louis,  drawing  after  her  a 
hundred  eyes  of  admiration  and  envy. 

"She  would  ride  down  to  the  Place  d^Armes"  she 
thouirht,  where  she  knew  that  before  she  had  skirted  the 


526 


THE  CmEiV  D'OR. 


length  of  the  Castle  wall,  half  a  dozen  g;allants  would  greet 
her  with  offers  of  escort,  and  drop  any  business  they  had 
in  hand  for  the  sake  of  a  gallop  by  her  side. 

She  had  scarcely  passed  the  monastery  of  the  Recollets 
when  she  was  espied  by  the  Sicur  La  Force,  who  too,  was 
as  quickly  discovered  by  her,  as  he  loitered  at  the  corner 
of  the  Rue  St.  Ann,  to  catch  sight  of  any  fair  piece  of  mis- 
chief that  might  be  abroad  that  day  from  her  classes,  in  the 
convent  of  the  LJrsulines. 

"  Angi'lique  is  as  fair  a  prize  as  any  of  them,"  thought 
La  Force,  as  he  saluted  her  with  Parisian  politeness,  and 
with  a  request  to  be  her  escort  in  her  ride  through  the 
city. 

"  My  h<  '  se  it  at  hand,  and  I  shall  esteem  it  such  an 
honor,"  said  La  F'orce,  smiling,  "  and  such  a  profit,  too," 
added  he  ;  "  my  credit  is  low  in  a  certain  quarter  ;  you 
know  where !  "  and  he  laughingly  pointed  towards  the  con- 
vent. "  I  desire  to  make  /av  jealous,  for  she  has  made  me 
madly  so,  and  no  one  can  aid  in  an  enterprise  of  that  kind 
better  than  yourself,  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises  !  " 

"Or  more  willingly,  Sieur  La  Force!"  replied  she, 
laughing.    "Jkit  you  overrate  my  powers,  I  fear." 

"  O,  by  no  means,"  replied  La  Force  ;  "  there  i.-.  not  a 
lady  in  Quebec  but  feels  in  her  heart  that  Angelique  des 
Meloises  can  steal  away  her  lover  when  and  where  she 
will.  She  has  only  to  look  at  him  across  the  street,  and 
presto  !  change  !  he  is  gone  from  her  as  if  by  magic. 
But  will  you  really  help  me,  Mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  Most  willingly,  Sieur  La  Force — for  your  profit  if  not 
for  your  honour!  I  am  just  in  the  humour  for  tormenting 
somebody  this  morning  ;  so  get  your  horse  and  let  us  be 
off!" 

Before  La  Force  had  mounted  his  horse,  a  number  of 
gayly-dressed  young  ladies  came  in  sight,  full  sail  down 
the  Rue  St.  Anne — like  a  fleet  of  rakish  little  yachts,  bear- 
ing down  upon  Angelique  and  her  companion. 

"  Shall  we  wait  for  them.  La  Force  .-• "  asked  she.  "  They 
are  from  the  Convent  !" 

''  Yes,  and  s/ie  is  there,  too  1  The  news  will  be  all  over 
the  city  in  an  hour  that  I  am  riding  with  you!  "  exclaimed 
La  F'orce,  in  a  tone  of  intense  satisfaction. 

Five  girls  just  verging  on  womanhood,  perfect  in  manner, 
and  appearance — as  the  Ursulines  knew  well  how  to  train 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS. 


527 


the  younjT  olive  plants  of  the  colony — walked  on  demurely 
enough,  looking  apparently  straight  forward,  hut  casting  side 
glances  from  under  their  veils,  u  hich  raked  the  Sieur  La 
Force  and  Ang(''lit[ue  with  a  searching  fire,  that  nothing 
could  withstand,  La  Force  said  ;  but  which  Angeliciue  re- 
marked, was  simply  "  imputlence,  such  as  could  only  be 
found  in  convent  girls  !  " 

They  came  nearer.  Ang(>lique  might  have  su|)posed 
they  were  going  to  pass  by  tiiem  had  she  not  known  too 
well  their  sly  ways.  The  foremost  of  the  five,  Louise  Roy, 
whose  glorious  hair  was  the  boast  of  the  city,  suddenly 
threw  back  her  veil  and  disclosing  acharming  face,  dinipkd 
with  smiles  and  wilh  a  thousand  mischiefs  lurking  in  her 
bright  grey  eyes — sprang  towards  Angel ique,  while  her 
companions — all  Louises  of  the  famous  class  of  that  name 
— also  threw  up  their  veils,  and  stood  saluting  Angelique 
and  La  Force  with  infinite  merriment. 

Louise  Roy,  quizzing  La  Force  through  a  coquettish 
eye-glass  which  she  wore  on  a  ribbon  round  her  pretty 
neck,  as  if  she  had  never  seen  him  before,  motioned  to 
liim  in  a» queenly  way  as  she  raised  her  diinty  foot,  giving 
liim  a  severe  look — or  what  tried  to  be  such,  but  was  in 
truth  an  absurd  failure. 

He  instantly  comprehended  her  command,  for  such  it 
was,  and  held  out  his  hand,  upon  which  she  stepped  lightly, 
and  sprang  up  to  Ang('lique,  endjracing  and  kissing  her 
with  such  cordiality,  that  if  it  were  not  real,  the  acting  was 
perfect.  At  the  same  time  Louise  Roy  made  her  under- 
stand that  she  was  not  the  only,  one  who  could  avail  her- 
self of  the  gallant  attentions  of  the  Sieur  La  Force. 

In  truth  Louise  Roy  was  somewhat  piqued  at  the  Sieur 
La  Force,  and  to  punish  him  made  herself  as  heavy  as 
her  slight  figure  would  admit  of.  She  stood  perched  up 
as  long  as  she  could — and  actually  enjoyed  the  tremor 
which  she  f'^lt  plainly  enough  in  his  hand  as  he  continued 
to  support  her,  and  was  quite  disposed  to  test  how  long  he 
could  or  would  hold  her  up,  while  she  conversed  in  whis- 
pers with  Angelique. 

"  Angelique  !  "  said  she,  "  they  say  in  the  Convent  that 
you  are  to  marry  the  Intendant.  Your  old  mistress,  Mere 
St.  Louis  is  crazy  wilh  delight.  She  says  she  always  pre- 
dicted you  would  make  a  great  match." 

*'  Or  none  at  ail,  as  Mere  St.  Helene  used  to  say  of  n:e ; 


); 
I 

I 


528 


777/1  cm  EN  D'OR. 


\  il 


but  llicy  know  everytliinjr  in  the  C'ojivciit,  do  they  not  ? " 
An^*''li(jUL'  pinched  the  arm  of  Louise,  as  much  as  to  say, 
**Of  course  it  is  true."  "  JJut  who  told  you  that,  Louise  ?  " 
asked  she. 

"(),  every  bird  that  tiies!  Ikit  tell  me  one  thinj;  more 
— they  say  the  Intendant  is  a  Ijluebeard,  who  has  liad  wives 
without  number — nobody  knows  how  many  or  what  became 
of  them,  so  of  course  he  kills  iheni  !     Is  that  true  ? " 

An^^i'Iicjue  shrank  a  little,  and  little  as  it  was  the  move- 
ment was  noticed  by  Louise.  ''  if  nobody  kiu)ws  what 
became  of  them,  how  should  I  know,  Louise  ?  "  replied 
she.     "He  does  not  look  like  a  Bluebeard,  does  he?" 

"So  says  Mere  St.  Joseph,  who  came  from  the  Convent 
at  Bordeaux,  you  know,  for  she  never  tires  iellin;^us.  .She 
declares  that  the  Chevalier  Jjjgot  was  never  married  at  all, 
and  she  ou^ht  to  know  that  surely,  as  well  as  she  knows 
her  beads,  for  cominj;  from  the  same  city  as  the  Intendant — 
and  knowinj;  his  family  as  she  doos — " 

"  Well,  Louise,"  iiUerrujjted  An:;('lique  impatiently,"  but- 
do  you  not  see  the  Sieur  La  i'"orce  is  gcttini;  tired  oi  hold- 
ing you  up  so  long  with  his  hand — for  heaven's  sake, 
get  down  I  " 

"  I  want  to  punish  him  for  goinj^  with  you,  and  not  wait- 
ing for  me  !  "  was  the  cool  wiiispjr  of  Louise  ;  "but  you 
will  ask  me,  Angelique,  to  the  wedding,  will  you  not .''  if 
you  do  not,"  continued  she,  "  I  shall  die  !  "  and  delaying 
her  descent  as  lon_<;  ;is  possible,  she  commenced  a  new 
topic  concerning  the  hat  worn  by  Angel icpie.  ' 

"  Mischief  that  you  are,  get  down  !  The  Sieur  La  Force 
is  my  cavalier  for  the  day,  and  you  shall  not  impose  on  his 
gallantry  that  way  !  He  is  ready  to  drop,"  whispered  An- 
gel ique. 

''  One  word  more,  Angelique."  Louise  was  delighted 
to  feel  the  hand  of  La  Force  tremble  more  and  more  under 
her  foot. 

"  No,  not  a  word !  get  down  ! " 

*'  Kiss  me  then  and  good-bye,  cross  thing  that  you  are  ! 
Do  not  keep  him  all  day,  or  all  the  class  besides  myself 
will  be  jealous,"  replied  Louise,  not  olTering  to  get  down. 

Angelique  had  no  mind  to  allow  her  cavalier  to  be  made 
a  horse-block  of,  for  anybody  but  herself.  She  jerked  the 
bridle,  and  making  her  horse  suddenly  pirouette,  compelled 
Louise  to  jump  down.     The  mischievous  little  fairy  turned 


■iMMllii 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS. 


529 


her  brif^ht  laiifjhing  eyes  full  upon  La  Force  and  thanked 
him  for  l)is  great  courtesy,  and  with  a  sij;nificant  gesture — 
as  nuich  as  to  say  ht;  was  at  liberty  now  to  escort  Angi'licjue, 
having  done  penance  for  the  san)e — rejoined  her  expect- 
ant companions,  who  had  laughed  heartily  at  her  maiueuvre. 

"She  paints  !"  was  Louise's  emphatic  whisper  to  her 
companions,  loud  enough  to  he  heard  by  La  I'orce,  for 
whom  the  remark  was  partly  intended.  "She  paints!  and 
I  saw  in  her  eyes  that  she  has  not  slept  all  night !  She  is 
in  love  !  and  I  do  believe  it  is  true,  she  is  to  marry  the  In- 
tendant !" 

This  was  delicious  news  to  le  class  of  Louises,  who 
laughed  out  like  a  chime  of  ilver  bells,  as  they  mis- 
chievously bade  La  Force  and  Angelique  bon  voyuii^e,  and 
passed  down  the  Place  d'Arjncs  in  search  of  fresh  adven- 
tures to  fill  their  budgets  of  fun — budgets  which,  on  their 
return  to  the  Convent,  they  would  open  under  the  very 
noses  of  the  good  nuns  (who  were  not  so  blind  as  they 
seemed,  however),  and  regale  all  their  companions  with  a 
spicy  treat,  in  response  to  the  universal  Question  ever  put 
to  all  who  had  been  out  in  the  city,  "  What  is  the  news?  " 

La  Force,  compliant  as  wax  to  every  caprice  of  An- 
gelique, was  secretly  fuming  at  the  trick  played  up(»n  him 
by  the  Mischief  of  the  Convent — as  he  called  Louise  Roy 
— for  which  he  resolved  to  be  revenged,  even  if  he  had  to 
marry  her.  He  and  Angelique  rode  down  the  busy  streets, 
receiving  salutations  on  every  hand.  In  the  great  square 
of  the  market  place  Angelique  pulled  up  in  front  of  the 
Cathedral. 

Why  she  stopped  there  would  have  puzzled  herself  to 
explain.  It  was  not  to  worship,  not  to  re|)ent  of  her 
heinous  sin  ;  she  neither  repented  nor  desired  to  repent. 
But  it  seemed  pleiisant  to  play  at  repentance,  and  put  on 
imaginary  sackcloth.  She  would  try  at  any  rate  to  say  in 
church  the  prayers  which  had  choked  her  at  home. 

Angelique's  brief  contact  with  the  fresh,  sunny  nature 
of  Louise  Roy  had  sensibly  raised  her  spirits.  It  lifted  the 
cloud  from  her  brow,  and  made  her  feel  more  like  her 
former  self.  The  story,  half  told  in  jest  by  Louise,  that 
she  was  to  marry  the  Intendant,  flattered  her  vanity  and 
raised  her  hopes  to  the  utmost.  She  liked  the  city  to  talk 
of  her  in  connection  with  the  Intendant. 

34 


530 


THE  cniEN  noR. 


\  \'> 


The  report  had  already  become  the  city's  talk,  and  she 
knew  that  it  was  not  slran<^e  to  the  ears  of  thj  Intendant 
himself,  for  at  the  Tavcnie  dt'  Mcnnt  ox\\y  a  few  ni^dits  ago, 
her  name  had  l)een  toasted  upon  their  knees  by  Bigot  and 
the  wild  gallants  of  his  train.  She  had  been  spoken  of 
freely  over  llicir  ciij)s,  and  Bigot  had  not  denied,  but  cheered 
louder  than  the  rest  when  she  was  named  as  the  future 
bride  of  the  Intendant. 

Angelique  njintinbercdthisas  she  entered  the  cathedral, 
and  began  to  think  it  was  not  so  unfortunate  after  all  that 
she  had  taken  counsel  of  La  Corriveau. 

The  image  of  Beaumanoir  grew  fainter  and  fainter  as 
she  knelt  down  upon  the  Moor,  not  to  ask  pardon  for  her 
sin,  but  to  pray  for  immunity  for  herself  and  the  speedy 
realization  of  the  great  object  of  her  ambition  and  her 
crime  !  She  almost  persuaded  herself  that  the  death  ot 
Caroline,  taking  it  all  in  all,  had  been  an  act  of  especial 
grace  in  answer  to  her  ardent  prayers — to  the  unknown 
goddess,  Venus  Victrix, 

The  pealing  of  the  organ,  rising  and  falling  in  waves  of 
harmony  ;  the  chanting  cf  choristers,  and  the  voice  of  the 
Celebrant  duiing  the  service  in  honor  of  St.  Michael  and 
all  the  Angels,  touched  her  sensuous  nature,  but  failed  to 
touch  her  conscience.  She  admired,  she  fell  the  harmon\', 
saw  the  glory  of  the  archangel,  and  forgot  the  mortal  angel 
lying  in  her  bloody  siiroud  under  the  cold  flags  of  the 
secret  chami)er  of  the  chateau,  where  she  hoped  full  soon 
to  be  the  regent  and  mistress. 

A  crowd  of  worshippers  were  kneeling  upon  the  fioor 
of  the  cathedral,  unobstructed  in  those  days  by  seats  and 
pews,  except  on  one  side,  where  rose  the  stately  bancs  of 
the  Governor  and  the  Intendant,  on  either  side  of  which 
stood  a  sentry  with  ported  arms,  and  o\erhead  upon  the 
wall  blazed  the  royal  escutcheons  of  France. 

Angelique,  whose  eyes  roved  incessantly  about  the 
church,  turned  them  often  towards  the  gorgeous  banc  oi  the 
Intendant,  and  the  thought  intruded  itself  to  the  exclusion 
of  her  prayers,  "  When  shall  I  sit  there  with  all  these  proud 
ladies  forgetting  their  devotions  through  envy  of  my  good 
fortune  ?  " 

She  conjured  up  an  image  of  herself  sitting  on  the 
royal  bixnc,  anil  her  nimble  fancy  (lashed  for  a  moment  with 
a  woman's  interest,  upon  the  color  of  the  robe,  the  fashion 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  ITAiVDS. 


531 


le 


e 
h 
11 


of  her  hair  and  her  head-dress,  upon  that  momentous  day — ■ 
a  momentous  day,  indeed,  to  her  if  it  ever  eame  !  A  still 
more  momentous  thinj;  if  the  dav  never  came  !  Either 
way  to  gain  the  world  slie  had  lost  her  soul.  Happy  if  sbe 
did  not  lose  the  world  too,  by  the  loss  of  jier  life,  shou  1 
the  dark  deed  at  Heauinanoir  ever  be  laid  to  her  charge! 

Bigot  did  not  appear  in  his  place  at  church  to-day.  He 
was  too  profoundly  agitated  and  sick,  and  lay  on  his  bed 
till  evening,  revolving  in  his  astute  mind  schem  :s  of  ven- 
geance possible  and  impossible,  to  be  carried  out  should 
his  suspicions  of  Angel ique  become  certainties  of  know- 
ledge and  fact.  His  own  safety  was  at  stake.  The  thought 
that  he  had  been  outwitted  by  the  beautiful,  designing, 
heartless  girl,  the  reflection  that  he  d  ire  not  turn  to  the 
right  hand  nor  to  the  left  to  inquire  into  this  horrid  assas- 
sination, which,  if  discovered,  would  be  laid  wholly  to  his 
own  charge;  drove  him  to  the  verge  of  distraction. 

The  Governor  and  his  friend  Peter  Kalm  occupied  the 
royal  banc.  Lutheran  as  he  was,  J'eter  Kalm  was  too  phil- 
osophical and  perhaps  too  faithful  a  follower  of  Christ  to 
consider  religion  as  a  matter  of  mere  opinion  or  of  forui 
rather  than  of  humble  dependence  upon  God,  the  Father  of 
all,  with  faith  in  Christ  and  the  conscientious  striving  to 
love  God  and  his  neighb  )r. 

A  short  distance  from  Angelique,  two  ladies  in  long 
black  robes,  and  evidently  of  rank,  were  kneeling  with 
downcast  faces  and  hands  clasped  over  their  bosoms,  in  a 
devout  attitude  of  prayer  and  supplication. 

Angelique's  keen  eye,  which  nothing  escaped,  needed 
not  a  second  glance  to  recognize  the  unmistakalile  grace 
of  Amelie  de  Repentigny  and  the  nobility  of  the  Lady  de 
Tilly. 

She  started  at  sight  of  these  relatives  of  Le  Gardcur's, 
but  did  not  wonder  at  their  presence,  for  she  already  knew 
that  they  had  returned  to  the  city  immediately  after  the 
abduction  of  Le  Gardeur  by  the  Chevalier  de  Pean. 

Startled,  frightenetl  and  despairing,  with  aching  hearts 
but  unimpaired  love,  Amelie  and  the  Lady  de  Tilly  had 
followed  Le  Gardeur  and  re-occupied  their  stately  house  in 
the  city,  resolved  to  leave  no  means  untried,  no  friends  un- 
solicited, no  prayers  unuttered,  to  rescue  him  from  the  gulf 
of  perdition  into  which  he  had  again  so  madly  plunged. 

Within  an   hour  after  her  return,  Ame'lie,  accompanied 


532 


THE  C HIE IV  nOR. 


by  Pierre  Philibert,  had  gone  to  the  Palace  to  seek  an  inter- 
view with  her  brother.  They  were  rudely  denied.  *'  He 
was  playing  a  game  of  piquet  for  the  championship  of  the 
Palace  with  the  Chevalier  de  Pean,  and  could  not  come  if 
St.  Peter,  let  alone  Pierre  Philibert,  stood  at  the  gate 
knocking !  " 

This  reply  had  passed  through  the  impure  lips  of  the 
Sieur  de  Lantagnac  before  it  reached  Amelie  and  Pierre. 
They  did  not  believe  it  came  from  their  brother.  They 
left  the  Palace  with  heavy  hearts,  after  long  and  vainly 
seeking  an  interview,  Philibert  resolving  to  appeal  to  the 
Intendant  himself  and  call  him  to  account  at  the  sword's 
point,  if  need  be,  for  the  evident  plot  in  the  Palace  to  detain 
Le  Gardeur  from  his  friends. 

Aine'lie,  dreading  some  such  resolution  on  the  part  of 
Pierre,  went  back  next  day  alone  to  the  Palace  to  try  once 
more  to  see  Le  Gardeur. 

She  was  agitated  and  in  tears  at  the  fate  of  her  brother. 
She  was  anxious,  too,  over  the  evident  danger  which  Pierre 
seemed  to  court,  for  his  sake,  and  she  woujd  not  hide  the 
truth  from  herself,  for  her  own  sake,  too,  and  yet  she  would 
not  forbid  hitn — she  felt  her  own  noble  blood  stirred  within 
her  to  the  point  that  she  wished  herself  a  man  to  be  able 
to  walk  sword  in  hand  into  the  Palace  and  confront  the 
herd  of  revellers  who  she  believed  had  plotted  the  ruin  of 
her  brother. 

She  was  proud  of  Pierre,  while  she  trembled  at  the  re- 
solution which  she  read  in  his  countenance  of  demanding 
as  a  soldier,  and  not  as  a  suppliant,  the  restoration  of  Le 
Gardeur  to  his  family. 

Amelie's  second  visit  to  the  Palace  had  been  as  fruitless 
as  her  first.  She  was  denied  admittance,  with  the  pro- 
foundcst  regrets  on  the  part  of  De  Pean,  who  met  her  at 
the  door  antl  strove  to  exculpate  himself  from  the  accusa- 
tion of  having  persuaded  Le  Gardeur  to  depart  from  Tilly, 
and  of  keeping  him  in  the  palace  against  the  prayers  of 
his  friends. 

De  Pean  remembered  his  presumption  as  well  as  his 
rejection  by  Amelie  at  Tilly,  and  while  his  tongue  ran 
smooth  as  oil  in  polite  regrets  that  Le  Gardeur  had  resolved 
not  to  see  his  sister  to-day,  her  evident  distress  filled  him 
wMth  joy,  which  he  rolled  under  his  tongue  as  the  most 
delicate  morsel  of  reveniic  he  had  ever  tasted. 


;i- 


■d 
m 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS. 


533 


Bowing  with  well-affected  politeness,  De  Pean  attended 
her  to  her  carriage,  and  having  seen  her  depart  in  tears, 
returned  laughing  into  the  Palace,  remarking,  as  he  mi- 
micked the  \Neeping  countenance  of  Amelie,  that  "the 
honnvtcs  gens  had  learned  it  was  a  serious  matter  to  come 
to  the  burial  of  the  virtues  of  a  young  gentleman  like  Le 
Gardeur  de  Repentigny  !  " 

On  her  return  home,  Amelie  threw  herself  on  the  neck 
of  her  aunt,  repeating  in  broken  accents,  "  My  poor  Le 
Gardeur  !  my  brother  !  He  refuses  to  see  me,  aunt !  He 
is  lost  and  ruined  in  that  den  of  all  iniquity  and  false- 
hood !  " 

"Be  composed,  Amelie,"  replied  the  Lady  de  Tilly  ;  "  I 
know  it  is  hard  to  bear,  but  perhaps  Le  Gardeur  did  not 
send  that  message  to  you.  The  men  about  him  are  cajja- 
ble  of  deceiving  you  to  an  extent  you  have  no  conception 
of,  you  who  know  so  little  of  the  world's  baseness. 

,   "  O  aunt,  it  is  true !     He  sent  me  this  dreadful  thing, 
I  took  it,  for  it  bears  the  handwriting  of  my  brother." 

She  held  in  her  hand  a  card,  one  of  a  pack.  It  was 
the  deathcard  of  superstitious  lookers  into  futurity.  Had 
he  selected  it  because  it  bore  that  reputation,  or  was  it  by 
chance  ? 

On  the  back  of  it  he  had  written,  or  scrawled  in  a 
trembling  hand,  yet  plainly,  the  words,  "  Return  home, 
Amelie.  I  will  not  see  you.  I  have  lost  the  game  of  life, 
and  won  the  card  you  see.  Return  home,  dear  sister  ! 
and  forget  your  unworthy  and  ruined  brother,  Le  Gar- 
deur." 

Lady  de  Tilly  took  the  card  and  read  and  re-read  it, 
trving  to  find  a  meu.iinfr  it  did  not  contain,  and  trving  not 
to  find  the  sad  meaning  it  d'd  contain. 

She  comforted  Amelie  as  best  she  could,  while  needing 
strength  herself  to  bear  the  bitter  cross  laid  upon  them 
both,  in  the  sudden  blighting  of  that  noble  life  of  which 
they  had  been  so  proud. 

She  took  Amelie  in  her  arms,  mingling  her  own  tears 
with  hers,  and  bidding  her  not  despair.  *' A  sister's  love," 
said  she,  "  never  forgets,  never  wearies,  never  despairs." 
They  had  friends  too  powerful  to  be  withstood,  even  by 
Bigot,  and  the  Intendant  would  be  compelled  to  loosen 
his  hold  upon  Le  Gardeur.  She  would  rely  upon  the  in- 
herent nobleness  of  the  nature  of  Le  Gardeur  himself,  to 


534 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


wash  itself  pure  of  all  stain,  could  they  only  withdraw  him 
from  the  seductions  of  the  Palace.  VVe  will  win  him  from 
them  by  counter  charms,  Amelie,  and  it  will  be  seen  that 
virtue  is  stronger  than  vice  to  conquer  at  last  the  heart  of 
Le  Gardeur. 

"  Alas,  aunt !"  replied  the  poor  girl,  her  eyes  suffused 
with  tears,  "  neither  friend  nor  foe  will  avail  to  turn  him 
from  the  way  he  has  resolved  to  go.  He  is  desperate, 
and  rushes  with  open  eyes  upon  his  ruin.  We  know  the 
reason  of  it  all.  I'liere  is  but  one  who  could  have  saved 
Le  Gardeur,  if  she  would.  She  is  utterly  unworthy  of  my 
brother,  but  I  feel  now  it  were  better  Le  Gardeur  had 
married  even  her,  than  that  he  should  be  utterly  lost  to 
himself  and  us  all.  I  will  see  Angelique  des  Meloises 
myself.  It  was  her  summons  brought  him  back  to  the 
city.  She  alone  can  withdraw  him  from  the  vile  com- 
panionship of  Bigot  and  his  associates  at  the  Palace." 

Angelique  had  been  duly  informed  of  the  return  of 
Ame'lie  to  the  city,  and  of  her  fruitless  visits  to  th  i  Palace 
to  see  her  brother. 

It  was  no  pleasure,  but  a  source  of  angry  disappoint- 
ment to  Ange'lique  that  Le  Gardeur,  in  despair  of  making 
her  his  wife,  refused  to  devote  himself  to  her  as  her  lover. 
He  was  running  wild  to  destruction,  instead  of  letting  her 
win  the  husband  she  aspired  to,  and  retain  at  the  same 
time  the  gallant  she  loved  and  was  not  willing  to  forego. 

She  had  seen  him  at  the  first  sober  moment  after  his 
return  from  Tillv,  in  obedience  to  her  summons.  She  had 
permitted  him  to  pour  out  again  his  jjassion  at  her  feet. 
She  had  yielded  to  his  kisses  when  he  claimed  her  heart 
and  hand,  and  had  not  refused  to  own  the  mutual  flame 
that  covered  her  cheek  with  a  blush  at  her  own  falseness. 
But  driven  to  the  wall  by  his  impetuosity,  she  had  at  last 
killed  his  reviving  hopes  by  her  repetition  of  the  fatal 
words,  "  I  love  you,  Le  Gardeur,  but  I  will  not  marry 
you  !  " 

Let  justice  be  done  to  Angelique. 

It  was  hard  even  for  her  to  repeat  those  words,  but  her 
resolution  once  taken  could  not  be  overthrown.  There 
was  no  base  of  real  feeling  in  her  nature  upon  which  to 
rest  the  lever  that  moves  other  women  to  chanire  with 
pardonable  inconsistencies.  Angelique  was  by  impulse 
true,  by  deliberate  calculation  false  and  immovable. 


I 


SILK'  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  ILIXDS. 


535 


It  was  in  vain  that  Le  Gardcur  pleaded  with  her.  He 
touched  her  sympathy  the  nearest  that  any  mortal  man 
could  do,  but  her  sympathy  was  a  hard  polished  surface  ; 
her  heart  was  impenetrable  to  true  love.  It  was  cold  as 
marble,  and  empty  of  all  save  idols  of  vanity,  frivolity  and 
utter  selfishness.  It  could  reflect  love  as  from  a  mirror, 
but  never  feel  its  true  warmth  stirrinj;  within. 

Angelique  was  seized  witli  a  sudden  iinjiulse  to  with- 
draw from  the  presence  of  Anielie  in  the  Cathedral,  before 
being  discovered  by  her.  She  was  half  afraid  that  her 
former  school  companion  would  not  speak  to  her  on  the 
subject  of  Le  G  uxleur.  She  could  not  brazen  it  out  with 
Ameiie,  who  knew  her  too  well,  and  if  she  could  she  would 
gladly  avoid  the  an;^ry'  flash  of  those  dark  pure  eyes, 
which  looked  throui^ii  and  through  you  like  the  eyes  of 
God's  cherubim,  which  see  within  and  without. 

Ame'lie  was  to  the  imagination  of  Angelique  an  em- 
bodiment of  spiritual  forces,  which  she  could  never  com- 
prehend, but  whicii  she  knew  to  be  irresistible  iii  any 
combat  with  falsehood  and  deceit.  On  more  than  one 
occasion,  Ange'lique's  hardihood  had  quailed  and  broken 
down  before  the  quiet  moral  strength  of  Ameiie  de  Repen- 
tigny. 

The  organ  was  pealing  the  last  notes  of  the  doxology, 
and  the  voices  of  the  choristers  seemed  to  re-echo  from 
the  depths  of  eternity  the  words  "  ///  scvcula  Siiciilorum^* 
when  Angelique  rose  up  suddenly  to  leave  the  church. 

Her  irreverent  haste  caused  those  about  her  to  turn 
their  heads  at  the  slight  confusion  she  made,  Ameiie 
among  the  rest,  who  recognized  at  once  the  countenance 
of  Ange'lique,  somewhat  flushed  and  irritated,  as  she  strove 
vainly,  with  the  help  of  La  Force,  to  get  out  of  the  throng 
of  kneeling  people  who  covered  the  broad  floor  of  the 
cathedral. 

Ameiie  deemed  it  a  fortunate  chance  to  meet  Ange- 
lique so  opport  iUely — just  when  her  desire  to  do  so  was 
strongest.  She  caught  her  eye,  and  made  her  a  quick 
sign  to  stay,  and  approaching  her,  seized  her  hands  in  her 
old  affectionate  way. 

*'  Wait  a  few  moments,  Angelique,"  said  she,  "  until 
the  people  depart.  1  want  to  speak  to  you  alone.  I  am 
so  fortunate  to  find  you  here." 

*'  1  will  see  vou  outside,  Ameiie.     The  Sieur  La  Force 


536 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


is  with  me,  and  cannot  stay."     AngcHquc  dreaded  an  inter- 
view with  Anielie. 

"  No,  I  will  speak  to  you  here.  It  will  be  better  here 
in  God's  temple  than  elsewhere.  The  Sieur  La  Force 
will  wait  for  you  if  you  ask  him,  or  shall  1  ask  him  ?"  A 
faint  smile  accompanied  these  words  of  Amelie,  which  she 
partly  addressed  to  La  Force. 

La  Force,  to  An;;e]ique's  chagrin,  understanding  that 
Amt'lie  desired  him  to  wait  for  Ang('lique  outside,  at  once 
offered  to  do  so. 

"  Or,  perhaps,"  continued  Amt'-lie,  offering  her  hand, 
**  the  Sieur  I  i  Force,  wliom  I  am  glad  to  see,  will  have 
the  politeness  to  accompany  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  while  I 
.speak  to  Mademoiselle  des  Meloises  ? " 

La  h'orce  was  all  compliance.  "He  was  quite  at  the 
service  of  the  ladies,"  he  said  politely,  "and  would  esteem 
it  an  honor  to  accompany  the  noble  Lady  de  Tilly." 

'I'he  Lady  de  Tilly  at  once  saw  through  the  design  of 
her  niece.  She  acceded  to  the  arrangement,  and  left  the 
cathedral  in  company  with  the  Sieur  La  l''orce,  whom  she 
knew  as  the  son  of  an  old  and  valued  friend. 

He  accompanied  her  home,  while  Amelie,  holding  fast 
to  the  arm  of  Angeliciue,  until  the  church  was  empty  of 
all  but  a  few  scattered  devotees  and  penitents,  led  her 
into  a  side  chapel,  separated  from  the  body  of  the  church 
by  a  screen  of  carved  work  of  oak,  wherein  stood  a  small 
altar  and  a  reliquary  with  a  picture  of  St.  Paul. 

I'he  seclusion  of  this  place  commended  itself  to  the 
f  elings  of  Amc'-lie.  wSbe  UKide  Angolicjue  kneel  down  by 
her  side  before  the  altar.  After  breathing  a  short  silent 
prayer  for  help  and  guidance,  she  seized  her  companion 
by  lioth  hands  and  besought  her  "in  God's  name  to  tell 
her  what  she  had  done  to  Le  Gardeur,  who  was  mining 
himself  both  soul  and  bodv  ?" 

Angelique,  hardy  as  she  was,  could  ill  bear  the  search- 
ing gaze  of  those  pure  eyes.  She  quailed  under  them  for  a 
moment,  afraid  that  the  question  might  have  some  refer- 
ence to  Beaumanoir,  but  re-assurcd  by  the  words  of 
Amelie,  that  her  interview  had  relation  to  Le  Gardeur 
only,  she  replied — 

"  I  have  done  nothing  to  make  Le  Gardeur  ruin  him- 
self,  soul  or  body,  Ame'lie.  Nor  do  I  believe  he  is  doing 
so.     Our  old  convent  notions   are  too   narrow  to  take   out 


SILK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HAN^DS. 


537 


with  us  into  the  world.     You  judgj  Le  G.irdeur  too  rigidly, 
Aiiie'lie." 

"  V\^)uld  that  were  my  fault,  Anj^dliqiu* !  "  replied  she, 
earnestly,  "  but  my  heart  tells  me  he  is  lost  unless  those 
who  led  him  astray  remit  him  again  into  the  path  of  virtue 
whence  they  seduced  him." 

Angelique  winced,  for  she  took  the  allusion  to  herself, 
although  in  the  mind  of  Amelie  it  referred  more  to  the 
l.Uendint.  "  Le  Gardeur  is  no  weakling  to  \ri  led  astray," 
replied  siie.  "  He  is  a  strong  mm  to  lead  others,  not  to 
be  led,  as  I  know  better  th  in  even  his  sister.'' 

Amtflie  looked  up  inquiringly,  but  Angelique  did  not 
pursue  the  thought  nor  exjilain    the  meaning  of  her  words. 

"  Le  (rardeur,"  continued  Angohciue,  "  is  not  worse,  nay 
with  all  his  faults,  is  far  better  than  most  young  gallants 
who  have  the  laudable  ambition  to  make  a  figure  in  the 
world  such  as  women  admire.  One  cannot  hop.*  to  find 
men  saints  and  we  women  i)e  such  sinners  !  Saints  would 
be  d  dl  companions,  I  prefer  mere  men,  Amelie  !" 

"  For  shame,  Angelique!  to  say  such  things  before  the 
sacre  I  shrine."  exclaimed  Amelie,  indignantly  stopping  her. 
"Whit  wonder  that  men  are  wicked  wlien  women  tempt 
th.Mii  to  be  so!  L.'  Girdeur  was  like  none  of  the  •rallants 
y^w  compare  him  with!  H;  loved  virtue  and  haled  vice, 
and  above  all  things  he  despised  the  companionship  of 
such  men  as  no.v  detain  him  at  the  Palace.  You  first  took 
him  f/ )m  me,  Angeli'que!  I  ask  you  no.v  to  give  him  back 
to  m  ;.  Give  me  back  my  brother,  Aiigelicjue  des  Meloises  !" 
Amelie  grasped  her  by  the  arm  in  the  earnestness  of  her 
appeal. 

"  I  took  him  from  you  ?  "'  exclaimed  Angelique,  hotly. 
"  It  is  untrue !  Forgive  my  saying  so.  Amelie  !  I  took  him  no 
more  th  in  did  Hehjise  de  Lotbinii're  or  Cecile  'I'ouran- 
geau  !  W^ill  you  hear  the  truth  ?  He  fell  in  love  with  me 
and  I  h  id  not  the  heart  to  repulse  him — nay,  I  could  not, 
for  I  will  confess  to  you,  Amelie.  as  I  often  avowed  to  you 
in  the  Convent,  I  love  1  I^.'  Girdeur  the  best  of  all  my  ad- 
mirers !  and  by  this  blessed  shrine,"  continued  she,  laying 
her  hand  upon  it,  *'  I  do  still  !  If  he  be  as  some  say  he 
is,  going  to3  fast,  for  his  own  good  or  yours  or  mine,  I  re- 
gret it  with  my  whole  heart;  I  regret  it  as  you  ilo !  Can  I 
say  more  ? " 

Ange'lique  was  sincere  in  this.     Her  words  sounded  hon- 


538 


THE  ciriEN  noR. 


est,  anrl  she  spoke  with  a  real  warmth  in  her  bosom,  such 
as  she  had  not  feU  in  a  h)ii<;  time. 

Her  words  impressed  Amc'lie  favorably. 

*'  I  think  you  speak  truly,  .Vnj^e'liciue,"  replied  she,  "when 
you  say  you  regret  Le  (iardeur's  relapse  into  the  evil  ways 
of  the  Palace.  No  one  that  ever  knew  my  noble  brother 
could  do  other  than  regret  it.  But  O,  Angelique  !  why 
with  all  your  inHuence  over  him  did  not  you  prevent  it  ? 
Whv  do  you  not  rescue  him  now .'  A  word  from  vou  would 
have  been  of  more  avail  than  the  pleading  of  all  the  world 
beside  I  " 

"  Amelie,  you  try  me  hard,"  said  Angelique,  uneasily, 
conscious  of  the  truth  of  Amclie's  words,  "but  I  can  bear 
much  for  the  sake  of  Le  Gardeur  !  JJe  assured  that  I  have 
no  power  to  influence  his  conduct  in  the  way  of  amend- 
ment, except  upon  impossible  conditions  !  I  have  tried, 
and  my  efforts  have  been  vain,  as  your  own  !" 

"Conditions!"  replied  Amelic,  "what  conditions?  but 
I  need  not  ask  you  !  He  told  me  in  his  hour  of  agony  of 
your  inexplicable  dealing  with  him,  and  yet  not  so  inexpli- 
cable now  !  Why  did  you  profess  to  love  my  brother,  lead- 
ing hiin  on  and  on  to  an  offer  of  his  hand,  and  then  cruelly 
reject  him,  adding  one  more  to  the  list  of  your  heartless 
triumphs  .''  Le  Gardeur  de  Repenligny  was  too  good  for 
such  a  fate  from  any  woman,  Angelique  !  "  Amelie's  eyes 
swam  in  tears  of  indignation  as  she  said  this. 

"  He  was  too  good  for  me  !  "  said  Ange'lique,  dropping 
her  eyes.  "  I  will  acknowledge  that,  if  it  will  do  you  any 
good,  Amelie  !  But  can  you  not  believe  that  there  was  a 
saci  ifice  on  my  part  as  well  as  on  his  or  yours  ? " 

"  I  judge  not  between  you,  Angelique  !  or  between  the 
many  chances  wasted  on  you  ;  but  I  say  this,  Angelique 
des  Meloises  !  you  wickedly  stole  the  heart  of  the  noblest 
brother  in  New  France  to  trainple  it  under  your  feet!" 

"  'Fore  God,  I  did  not,  Aniolie  !"  she  replied  indignantl}'', 
"  I  loved  and  do  love  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny,  but  I 
never  plighted  my  troth  to  him,  I  never  deceived  him  !  I 
told  him  I  loved  him,  but  I  could  not  marry  him  !  and  by 
this  sacred  cross,"  said  she,  placing  her  hands  upon  it,  "  it 
is  true  !  I  never  trampled  upon  the  heart  of  Le  Gardeur  ; 
I  could  kiss  his  hands,  his  feet  with  true  affection  as  ever 
loving  woman  gave  to  man,  but  my  duty,  my  troth,  my  fate, 
were  in  the  hands  of  another  !  " 


S/LK  GLOVES  OVER  BLOODY  HANDS. 


539 


Aniijclique  felt  a  degree  of  pleasure  in  .the  confession  to 
Amc'Iie  of  her  love  for  her  brother.  It  was  the  next  thing 
to  confessing  it  to  himself,  which  had  been  once  the  joy  of 
her  life,  but  it  changed  not  one  jot  her  delerniinalion  to 
wed  only  the  Intendant,  unless, — yes  !  her  busy  mind  had 
to-day  called  up  a  thousand  possible  and  impossible  con- 
tingencies that  might  spring  up,  out  of  the  unexpected  use 
of  the  stiletto  by  La  C'orriveau.  "What  if  the  Intendant, 
suspecting  her  comj^licity  in  the  murder  of  Caroline,  should 
refuse  to  marry  her  ?  Were  it  not  well  in  that  desperate 
case  to  have  Le  Gardeur  to  fall  back  upon  ?  He  would 
take  her  at  a  word  ;  nay,  sjie  flattered  herself  that  he  would 
take  her  believing  her  denial  of  guilt  against  the  accusation 
of  all  the  world." 

If  the  golden  arrow  missed  the  target,  she  would  hit  it 
with  the  silver  one  !  and  her  mind  misgave  her  sometinv  s, 
that  it  might  be  plmost  as  pleasant  to  marry  the  man  she 
loved  for  his  own  sake,  as  the  man  she  wanted  for  sake  of 
his  rank  and  riches. 

Amelie  watched  nervously  the  changing  countenance  of 
Angeliqne.  Siie  knew  it  was  a  beautiful  mask  covering 
impenetrable  deceit,  and  that  no  principle  of  right  kejv  her 
from  wrong  when  wrong  was  either  pleasant  or  profitable. 
A  man  had  better  trust  his  naked  hand  in  the  mouth  of  a 
wolf  than  his  true  heart  in  the  keeping  of  Angelique. 

I'he  conviction  came  upon  Amelie  like  a  flash  of  inspira- 
tion tliat  she  was  wrong  in  seeking  to  save  Le  Gardeur  by 
seconding  his  wild  offer  of  marriage  to  AngtMique.  A  union 
with  this  false  and  capricious  woman  would  only  make  his 
ruin  more  complete  and  his  latter  end  worse  than  the  first. 
"She  would  not  urge  it,"  she  thought. 

"  Ange'lique,"  said  she,  "  if  you  love  Le  Gardeur,  you  will 
not  refuse  your  help  to  rescue  him  from  the  Palace.  You 
cannot  wish  to  see  him  degraded  as  a  gentleman  because 
he  has  been  rejected  by  you  as  a  lover." 

"  Who  says  I  wish  to  see  him  degraded  as  a  gentleman  ? 
and  I  did  not  reject  him  as  a  lover !  not  finally,  that  is  I 
did  not  wholly  mean  it.  When  I  sent  to  invite  his  return 
from  Tilly  it  was  out  of  friendship,  love,  if  you  will,  Amdlie, 
but  from  no  desire  that  he  should  plunge  into  fresh  dissipa- 
tion." 

"  I  believe  you,  Ange'lique  !  you  could  not  if  you  had  the 
heart  of  a  woman  lovins  him  ever  so  little,  desire   to  see 


540 


THE  CI//E.V  D'OR. 


him  fall  into  the  clutches  of  men  who  with  the  wine  cup  in 
one  ii;inti  and  the  dice  box  in  the  other,  will  never  rest 
until  they  ruin  him  body,  soul  and  estate." 

"  Hrfore  Ood  I  never  desired  it,  and  to  prove  it,  \  have 
cursed  l)e  I'can  to  his  face,  and  erased  Lanta^ijnac  from  my 
list  of  friends,  for  coming  to  show  me  the  money  he  had 
won  from  Le  (rardeiir  while  intovicated.  Lantaj^nac  brought 
me  a  set  of  pearls  which  he  had  purchased  f)Ut  of  his  win- 
nings, I  threw  them  into  the  tire  and  would  have  thrown  him 
after  tliem,  h  id  I  been  a  man  !  'fore  Crod  I  would,  Amelie  ! 
I  mav  have  wounded  Le  Clardeur,  but  no  other  man  or 
woman  shall  injure  him  with  my  consent." 

Angelique  spoke  this  in  a  tone  of  sincerity  that  touched 
somewhat  the  heart  of  Amelie,  although  the  aberrations 
and  inconsistencies  of  this  strange  girl  jjerplexed  her  to 
the  utmost  to  understand  what  she  really  felt. 

"I  think  I  may  trust  you,  Angelique,  to  help  me  to 
rescue  him  from  association  with  the  Palace  ?"  said  Amelie, 
gently,  almost  submissively,  as  if  she  half  feared  a  refusal. 

"  I  desire  nothing  more,"  rejilied  Angelique ;  "  you 
have  little  faith  in  me,  I  see  that,"  Angeli(jue  wiped  her 
eyes,  in  which  a  shade  of  moisture  could  be  seen, — "but 
I  am  sincere  in  my  friendship  for  Le  Gardeur.  'I'he  Vir- 
gin be  my  witness,  I  never  wished  his  injury,  even  when  I 
injured  him  most.  He  sought  me  in  marriage,  and  1  was 
bound  to  another." 

"You  are  to  marry  the  Intendant,  they  say?  I  do  not 
wonder,  and  yet  I  do  wonder,  at  your  refusing  my  brother, 
even  for  him." 

"  Marry  the  Litendant  !  Yes,  it  is  what  fools  and  some 
wise  people  say.      [  never  said  it  myself,  Amelie." 

"But  you  mean  it,  nevertheless;  and  for  no  other 
would  you  have  thrown  over  Le  0;irdeur  de  Repentigny." 

"I  ditl  not  throw  him  over,"  she  answered,  indignantly. 
"  But  why  dispute  ?  I  cannot,  Amelie,  say  more,  even  to 
you  !  I  am  distraught  with  cares  and  anxieties,  and  know 
not  which  way  to  turn." 

"Turn  here  !  where  I  turn  in  my  troubles,  Angelique," 
replied  Amelie,  moving  closer  to  the  altar.  "  Let  us  pray 
for  Le  Gardeur."  Angelique  obeyed  mechanically  and  the 
two  girls  prayed  silently  for  a  few  moments,  but  how  dif- 
ferently' in  spirit  and  feeling  !  The  f  ne  prayed  for  her 
brother — the  other  tried  to  pray,  but  it  was  more  for  her-. 


THE  WTEh^DANTS  DILEAnrA. 


541 


self,  for  safety  in  her  crime  and  success  in  her  deep  laid 
scheming^.  A  prayer  for  Le  (Jardeur  mitij:;led  with  An};d- 
lique's  devotions,  givinj;  them  a  color  of  virtue.  Her 
desire  for  his  welfare  was  sincere  enouj:^!!,  and  she  thought 
it  disinterested  of  herself  to  pray  for  him. 

Suddenly  Angelique  started  up  as  if  stung  by  a  wasp. 
"  I  must  take  leave  of  you,  my  Amelie,"  said  she,  "  1  am 
glad  I  met  you,  here.  I  trust  you  understand  me  now, 
and  will  rely  on  my  being  as  a  sister  to  Le(}ardeur,  to  do 
what  I  can  to  restore  him  perfect  to  you  and  the  good 
Lady  de  Tilly." 

Amelie  was  touched.  She  embraced  AngiMique  and 
kissed  her,  yet  so  cold  and  impassive  she  felt  her  to  be,  a 
shiver  rari  through  her  as  she  did  so.  It  was  as  if  she 
had  touched  the  dead,  and  she  long  afterwards  thought  of 
it.  There  was  a  mystery  in  this  strange  girl  that  Amelie 
could  not  fathom  nor  guess  the  meaning  of.  They  left  the 
Cathedral  together.  It  was  now  cjuite  empty  save  of  a 
lingering  penitent  or  two  kneeling  at  the  shrines.  Angd- 
lique  and  Ami^lie  parted  at  the  door,  the  one  eastward,  the 
other  westward, — and  carried  away  by  the  divergent  cur- 
rents of  their  lives,  they  never  met  again. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 


THE    INTENDANTS    DILEMMA. 


(( 


DID  I  not  know  for  a  certainty  that  she  was  present 
till  midnight  at  the  party  given  by  Madame  de 
Grandmaison,  I  should  suspect  her,  by  God  !  "  exclaimed 
the  Intendant,  as  he  paced  up  and  down  his  private  room 
in  the  Palace,  angry  and  perplexed  to  the  uttermost  over 
the  mysterious  assassination  at  Beaumanoir.  "  What  think 
you,  Cadet  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  proves  an  alibi,'''  replied  Cadet,  stretching 
himself  lazily  in  an  armchair  and  smoking  with  half  shut 
eyes.  There  was  a  cynical,  mocking  tone  in  his  voice 
which  seemed  to  imply  that  although  it  proved  an  alibi,  it 
did  not  prove  innocence  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  Sieur 
Cadet. 


54* 


THE  CniEN  D'OR. 


"You  think  more  than  you  sny,  Cadet.  Out  with  it  I 
Let  mc  hear  the  worst  of  your  suspicions.  I  fancy  they 
chime  with  mine,"  said  llie  Intcndant,  in  quick  reply. 

"As  the  hells  of  the  Cathedral  with  ihe  bells  of  the 
Rccollets,"  drawled  out  Cadet.  "I  think  she  did  it,  IJigot, 
and  you  think  the  same  ;  but  I  should  not  like  to  be 
called  upon  to  prove  it,  nor  you  either, — not  for  the  sake 
of  the  pretty  witch,  but  for  your  own." 

"  I  could  prove  nothin"^.  Cadet.  She  was  the  grayest 
and  most  li<j;hl  hearted  of  all  the  company  last  ni^ht  at 
Madame  de  Cranchnaison's.  I  have  made  the  most  par- 
ticular inciuiries  of  Varin  and  Deschenaux.  They  needed 
no  asking,  but  burst  out  at  once  into  praise  and  admiration 
of  her  j.i;aiety  and  wit.  It  is  certain  she  was  not  at  13eau- 
raanoir." 

"  You  often  boasted  you  knew  women  better  than  I,  and 
I  yielded  the  point  in  ref2;ard  to  Anp;elique."  replied  Cadet, 
refillinfj  his  j)ipe.  "I  did  not  profess  to  fathom  the  depths 
of  that  girl,  but  I  thought  you  knew  her.  Egad  !  she  has 
been  too  cle\er  for  vou  ijigot  !  She  has  aimed  to  be  the 
Lady  Intendant  and  is  in  a  fair  way  to  succeed.!  That 
girl  has  the  spirit  of  a  war-horse  ;  she  would  carry  any  man 
round  the  world.  I  wish  she  would  carry  me.  I  would 
rule  Versailles  in  six  weeks,  with  that  woman,  Bigot  I  " 

"The  same  thought  has  occurred  to  me,  Cadet,  and 
I  might  have  been  entrapped  by  it  had  not  this  cursed 
affair  happened.  La  Pompadour  is  a  simpleton  beside 
Angeliqiedes  Meloises !  My  difficulty  is  to  believe  her 
so  mad  as  to  have  ventured  on  this  bold  deed." 

"  'Tis  not  the  boldness,  only  the  uselessness  of  it, 
would  stop  Ang^lique  !"  answered  Cadet,  shutting  one  eye 
with  an  air  of  lazy  comfort. 

"But  the  deceitfulness  of  it,  Cadet!  A  girl  like  her 
could  not  be  so  gay  last  night  with  such  a  bloody  purpose 
on  her  soul.     Could  she,  think  you?" 

"  Couldn't  she  ?  Tut !  Deceit  is  every  woman's  nature  ! 
Her  wardrobe  is  not  complete  unless  it  contains  as  many 
lies  for  her  occasions  as  ribl)ons  for  her  adornment  !  " 

"  You  believe  she  did  it  then  ?  What  makes  you  think 
so,  Cadet  ?"  asked  Bigot  eagerly,  drawing  near  his  com- 
panion. 

"Why,  she  and  you  are  the  only  persons  on  earth  who 
had  an  interest  in  that  girl's  death.    She  to'  get  a  dangerous 


THE  INTENDANrS  DfLEMAfA, 


543 


rival  out  of  the  way — you  to  hide  her  from  tlie  search- 
warrants  sent  out  by  La  l'omi>a(lour.  Vou  rlul  not  do  it, 
I  know:  eri^o,  she  did  !  Can  any  ioj^ic  be  phiiner?  That 
is  the  reason  I  think  so,  Hi<;ot." 

"Hut  how  has  it  i)een  accomplished,  Cadet?  Have 
you  any  theory  ?  She  can  not  have  done  it  with  her  own 
hand." 

"  Why,  there  is  only  one  way  that  I  can  see.  We  know 
she  did  not  do  the  murder  h.erself,  therefore  she  has  done 
it  by  the  hand  of  another.  Here  is  proof  of  a  confederate, 
lii^ol, —  I  picked  thi-s  up  in  the  secret  chamber."  Cadet 
drew  out  of  his  pf)cket  the  fragment  of  the  letter  torn  in 
jiieces  by  La  Corriveau.  "  Is  this  the  handwriting  of 
Angelique  }  "  asked  he. 

Bigot  seized  the  scrap  of  piper,  read  it,  turned  it  over 
and  scrutinized  it,  striving  to  find  resemblances  between 
the  writing  and  that  of  every  one  known  to  him.  His 
scrutiny  was  in  vain. 

"  This  writing  is  not  Angelique's,"  said  he.  "  It  is 
utterly  unknown  to  me.  It  is  a  woman's  hand,  but  cer- 
tainly not  the  hand  of  any  woman  of  my  acquaintance,  and 
I  have  letters  and  billets  from  almost  every  lady  in  Que- 
bec. It  is  proof  of  a  confederate,  howe\er,  for  listen, 
Cadet!  It  arranges  for  an  interview  with  Caroline,  poor 
girl  !  It  was  thus  she  -was  betrayed  to  her  death.  It  is 
torn,  but  enough  remains  to  make  the  sense  clear — listen  : 
"At  the  arched  door  about  midnight — if  she  pleased  to 
admit  her  she  would  learn  important  matters  concerning 
herself — the  Intendant  and  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin 
— speedily  arrive  in  the  Colony."  That  throws  light 
upon  the  mystery.  Cadet  !  A  woman  was  to  ha'"^  an 
interview  with  Caroline  at  midnight  !  Good  (iod,  Cadet  ! 
not  two  hours  before  we  arrived  !  And  we  deferred  start- 
ing in  order  that  we  might  rook  the  Seigneur  de  Port 
Neuf !  Too  late  !  too  late  !  O  cursed  word  that  ever 
seals  our  fate  when  we  propose  a  good  deed  !  "  and  Bigot 
felt  himself  a  man  injured  and  neglected  by  Providence. 

"'Important  matters  relating  to  herself.'"  repeated 
Bigot,  reading  again  the  scrap  of  writing.  "  '  The  Intend- 
ant and  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin — speedily  to  arrive  in  the 
Colony.'  No  one  knew  but  the  sworn  Councillors  of  the 
Governor  thac  the  Baron  de  St.  Castin  was  coming  out  to 
the  Colony.     A  woman  has  done  the  deed,  and  she  has 


1 


544 


T/IE  CHI  EN-  D'OR. 


been  informed  of  the  secrets  spoken  in  Council  by  some 
councillor  present  on  that  clay  at  the  Castle.  Who  was 
he  ?   and  who  was  she  ?  "  questioned  Bii;ot,  excitedly. 

"  The  arf]jument  runs  like  water  down  hill,  Bigot  ! 
but,  par  Dicu !  I  would  not  have  believed  that  New 
France  contained  two  women  of  such  mettle  as  the  one  to 
contrive,  the  other  to  execute  a  master-piece  of  d;ivilm;int 
like  that ! " 

"  Since  we  find  ano*^her  hand  in  the  dish,  it  mav  not 
have  been  Angeiiciue  after  all,"  remarked  Bigot.  "  It  is 
hard  to  believe  one  so  fair  and  free. spoken,  guilty  of  so 
dark  and  damnable  a  crime."  Bigot  would  evidently  be 
glad  to  find  himself  in  error  touching  his  suspicions. 

'•  Fairest  without  is  often  foulest  within,  Bigot,"  an 
swered  Cadet,  doggedly.  "  Open  speech  in  a  woman  is 
often  an  open  trap  to  catch  fools  !  Angelique  des  Meloises 
is  free  spoken  and  open-handed  enough  to  deceive  a  con- 
clave of  Cardinals  ;  but  she  has  the  lightest  heels  in  the 
city.  Wruld  you  not  like  to  see  her  dance  a  Ballet  de 
Triomphe  on  the  broad  flag-stone  I  laid  over  the  grave  of 
that  poor  girl }  If  you  would,  you  have  only  to  marry  her, 
and  she  will  give  a  ball  in  the  secret  chamber  !  " 

"  Be  still,  Cadet !  I  could  take  you  by  the  throat  for 
suggesting  it !  but  I  will  make  her  prove  herself  innocent !  " 
exclaimed  Bigot,  angry  at  the  cool  persistence  of  Cadet. 

*'  I  hope  you  will  not  try  it  to  day.  Bigot."  Cadet 
spoke  gravely  now.  "  Let  the  dead  sleep,  and  let  all 
sleeping  dogs  and  bitches  lie  still.  Zounds  !  we  are  in 
greater  danger  i!\an  she  is  !  you  cannot  stir  in  this  matter 
without  putting  yourself  in  her  power.  Angelique  has  got 
hold  of  the  secret  of  Caroline  and  of  the  Baron  de  St. 
Castin  ;  what  if  she  clear  herself  by  accusing  you  .^  The 
king  would  put  you  in  the  Bastile  for  the  magnificent  lie 
you  told  the  Governor,  and  La  Pompadour  would  send 
you  to  the  Place  de  Creve  when  the  JJaron  de  St.  Castin 
returned  with  the  bones  of  his  daughter,  dug  up  in  your 
chateau  !  " 

*'  It  is  a  cursed  dilemma !  "  Bigot  fairly  writhed  with 
perplexity.  "  Dark  as  the  bottomless  pit,  turn  whirh  way 
we  will.  Angt'lique  knows  too  much,  that  is  clear ;  it  were 
a  charity  if  it  were  a  safe  thing,  to  kill  iier  too.  Cadet ! " 

"  Not  to  be  thought  of,  Bigot ;  she  is  too  much  in 
every  man's  eye,  and  cannot  be  stowed  away  in  a  secret  cor- 


IL 


THE  INTEA'DANTS  DILEMMA. 


545 


for 


in 
tter 
i2;ot 

St. 
The 

He 
;nd 
St  in 
our 


'ere 


ner  like  her  poor  victim.  A  dead  silence  on  every  point  of 
this  cursed  business  is  our  only  policy,  our  only  safety." 
Cadet  had  plenty'  of  common  sense  in  the  rough,  and 
Bigot  was  able  to  appreciate  it. 

The  Intendant  strode  up  and  down  the  room  clenching 
his  hands  in  a  fury.  "  If  I  were  sure  !  sure  !  she  did  it  ! 
I  would  kill  her  by  God  !  such  a  damnable  cruel  deed  as 
this  would  justify  any  measure  of  vengeance  !  "  exclai.ned 
he  savagely. 

"  Pshaw  !  not  when  it  would  all  rebound  upon  your- 
self. Besides,  if  you  want  vengeance,  take  a  man's  revenge 
upon  a  woman,  you  can  do  that  I  It  will  be  beitei  than 
killing  her,  much  more  pleasant,  and  quite  as  elfectual." 

Bigot  looked  as  Cadet,  said  this,  and  lauglied  :  *'  You 
would  send  her  to  the  Pare  aux  rcvyjr,  eh.  Ca  let .''  J^ar 
Dieuf  slie  would  sit  on  the  throne  in  six  months  I  " 

'•  No,  I  do  not  mean  the  Pure  aux  ccrfs,  but  the  Chat- 
eau of  Beaumanoir.  But  you  are  in  too  ill  hum.r  to  joke 
to-day,  Bigot."  Cadet  resumed  his  pipe  with  an  air  of 
nonchalance, 

"  I  never  was  in  a  worse  humor  in  my  life,  c  ulet  !  I 
feel  that  I  have  a  padlock  upon  every  oi^e  of  my  five 
senses  ;  and  I  cannot  move  hand  or  foot  in  this  busi- 
ness ? " 

"  Right,  Bigot,  do  not  move  hand,  or  foot,  eye,  or 
tongue,  in  it.  I  tell  you  the  slightest  whisper  t)f  (.\iroline's 
life  or  death  in  your  house,  rear  ling  the  ears  of  lM)ilibert, 
or  La  Corne  St.  Luc,  will  bring  them  to  Beaumanoir  with 
warrants  to  search  for  her.  They  will  pick  the  chateau  to 
pieces  stone  by  stone.  They  will  drag  Caroline  out  vyf  her 
grave,  and  the  whole  country  will  swear  you  niurdered  h.r, 
and  that  I  helped  you,  and  with  appearances  so  strong 
against  us,  that  the  mothers  who  l;ore  us  would  not 
believe  in  our  innocence  !  Damn  the  women  !  The  bury- 
ing of  that  girl  was  the  best  ^cA  I  did  for  one  of  the  sex 
in  my  life,  but  it  will  ])e  the  vorst,  if  you  breathe  one 
word  of  it  to  Angi'lique  des  Meloises,  or  to  any  other  per- 
son living.  I  am  not  ready  to  lose  my  head  yet,  Bigot, 
for  the  sake  of  any  woman,  or  even  for  you  !  " 

The  Intendant  was  staggered  by  the  vehemence  of 
Cadet,  and  impressed  by  the  force  of  his  remarks.  It  was 
hard  to  sit  down  quietly  and  condone  such  a  crime,  but  he 
saw  clearly  the  danger  of  pushing  inquiry  in  any  direction 

35 


546 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OK. 


without  turnin<T  suspicion  upon  himself.  He  boiled  with 
indignation.  He  fumed  and  swore  worse  than  his  wont 
when  angry,  but  Cadet  looked  on  quietly,  smoking  his 
pipe,  waiting  for  the  storm  to  calm  down. 

"  You  were  never  in  a  woman's  clutches  so  tight 
before,  IJigot !  "  continued  Cadet.  "  If  you  let  La  Pompa- 
dour suspect  one  hair  of  your  head  in  this  matter,  she  will 
spin  a  cart  rope  out  of  it  that  will  drag  you  to  the  Place  de 
Grove. 

*'  Reason  tells  me  that  what  you  say  is  true.  Cadet,'* 
replied  I>igot,  gloomily. 

"To  be  sure,  but  is  not  Angelique  a  clever  witch  to 
bind  Francois  Bigot  neck  and  heels  in  that  way,  after  fair- 
ly outwitting  and  running  him  down  .?" 

Cadet's  cool  commenls  drove  ]>igot  beside  himself.  "  I 
will  not  stand  it,  by  St.  Alaur !  she  shall  pay  for  all  this! 
I  who  have  caught  women  all  my  life,  to  be  caught  by  one 
thus  !    she  shall  pay  for  it!  " 

"  Well,  make  her  pay  for  it  by  marrying  her  !  "  replied 
Cadet.  "  l\tr  Dicu  !  I  am  mistaken  if  you  have  not  got 
to  marry  her  in  the  end  !  I  would  marr)'  her  myself,  if  you 
di"  not,  only  I  should  be  afraid  to  sleep  nights  !  I  might  be 
put  inder  the  Hoor  before  morning  if  she  liked  another 
man  better  ! ' 

Cad'jt  gave  way  to  a  feeling  of  hilarity  at  this  idea, 
shaking  his  sides  so  long  and  heartilv  that  Bigot  cau'T:iit 
the  infection,  and  joined  in  with  a  burst  of  sardonic  laugh- 
ter. 

Bigot's  laughter  was  soon  over,  he  sat  down  at  the  table 
again,  and  being  now  calm,  considered  the  whole  matter 
over,  point  by  point,  with  Cadet,  who,  though  coarse  and 
unprincipled,  was  a  shrewd  councillor  in  difficulties. 

It  was  determined  between  the  two  men  that  nothing 
whatever  should  be  said  of  the  assassination.  Bigot  should 
continue  his  gallantries  to  Angelique,  and  avoid  all  show 
of  suspicion  in  that  quarter.  He  should  tell  her  of  the  dis- 
appearance of  Caroline,  who  had  gone  away,  mysteriously 
as  she  came,  but  profess  absolute  ignorance  as  to  her 
fate. 

Angt'lique  would  be  equally  cautious  in  alluding  to  the 
murder;  she  would  pretend  to  accept  all  his  statements  as 
absolute  fact.  Her  tongue,  if  not  her  thoughts,  would  be 
sealed  up  in  perpetual  silence  on  that  bloody  topic.     Bigot 


THE  INTE.VD ANT'S  DILEMMA. 


'547 


ling 


the 
ts  as 
be 


must  feed  her  with  hopes  of  marriage,  and  if  necessary,  set 
a  day  for  it,  far  enpu;;h  off  to  cover  all  the  time  to  be  taken 
up  in  the  search  after  Caroline. 

"I  will  never  marry  her,  Cadet  !  "  exclaimed  I>igot,  *'  but 
will  make  her  reirret  nil  her  life  she  did  not  marrv  me  ! " 

"Take  care.  Bigot !  It  is  dangerous  playing  with  fire  ! 
you  don't  half  know  Angt'-lique." 

"I  mean  she  shall  pull  the  chesnuts  out  of  the  fire  for 
me  with  her  pretty  fingers,  until  if  she  burn  them."  remark- 
ed Bigot,  gruffiy. 

"  I  would  not  trust  her  too  far  !  In  all  seriousness,  you 
have  but  the  choice  of  two  things.  Bigot,  marry  her  or  send 
her  to  the  convent." 

"  I  would  not  do  the  one.  and  I  could  not  do  the  other, 
Cadet,"  was  Bigot's  prompt  reply  to  this  suggestion. 

"Tut!  Mere  Migeon  de  la  Nativite  will  respect  your 
Idtre  de  cachet,  and  provide  a  close,  comfortable  cell  for 
this  pretty  penitent  in    the  Ursulines,"  said  Cadet. 

"  Not  she.  Mere  Migeon  gave  me  one  of  her  parlor 
lectures  once,  and  I  care  not  for  another.  Egad,  Cadet ! 
she  made  me  the  nearest  of  being  ashamed  ot  Francois 
Bigot  of  any  one  I  ever  listened  to  !  Could  you  have  seen 
her,  with  her  veil  thrown  back,  her  pale  face  still  paler 
with  indignation  ;  her  black  eyes  looking  still  blacker 
beneath  the  white  fillet  upon  her  forehead,  and  then  her 
tongue,  Cadet  !  well,  I  withdrew  my  pro|)osal  and  felt  my- 
self rather  cheapened  in  the  presence  of  Mere  Migeon." 

"Aye,  I  hear  she  is  clipper  when  she  gets  a  sinner  by 
the  hair  !  What  was  the  proposal  you  made  to  her,  Bigot  ?  " 
asked  Cade*^,  smiling  as  if  he  knew. 

"  Oh,  it  was  not  worth  a  livre  to  make  such  a  row 
about  I  I  only  proposed  to  send  a  truant  damsel  to  the  con- 
vent to  repent  of  ;/;v  faults,  that  was  all  I  Mere  Migeon 
fired  up,  'she  would  not  be  gaoler  for  the  king,' she  saici. 
It  was  in  vain  I  talked  of  La  Valliere,  and  threatened  her 
with  the  bishop  ;  she  set  me  at  defiance  and  bade  me 
go  marry  the  girl  instead  of  trying  to  make  a  nun  of 
her !  ' 

"  But  you  carried  your  point,  did  you  not  ?  She  took  her 
in  at  last." 

"  Not  on  my  account.  Cadet,  Poor  Lucille  went  in  at 
last  of  her  own  accord.  .The  sympathizing  nuns  all  cried 
over  her  and  pleaded  upon  their  knees  to  the  Mere  supei- 


i-i'^ 


•*  ; 


m 


548 


T//E  CHIEN  D'OR. 


ior,  so  lonp;  and  so  hard,  that  she  relented,  and  took  her 
in.  But  More  Mi^eon  indignantlv  refused  the  dowry  I 
offered  with  lier.  My  little  nun  is  now  as  happy  as  a  lamb 
in  a  meac'ow,.  antl  I  think  as  innocent  ;  for  it  was  all  my 
fault,  Cadet,  was  that  adventure.  Ikit  I  could  never  dis- 
pose of  An<j;elique  in  that  way,"  continued  the  Intendant 
with  a  shrug. 

"  Egad !  she  will  fool  any  man  faster  than  he  can  make 
a  fool  of  her  !  Ikit  I  would  try  Mere  Migeon,  notwith- 
standing" replied.  Cadet,  "she  is  the  only  one  to  break  in 
this  wild  filly  aixl  nail  her  tongue  fast  to  her  prayers  !  " 

"It  is  useless  trying.  They  know  AtigtMique  too  well. 
She  would  turn  the  Convent  out  of  the  windows  in  the 
time  of  a  ucuvaine.  They  are  all  really  afraid  of  b  c !  " 
replied  Bigot. 

"Then  you  must  marry  her,  or  do  worse,  Bigot.  I  see 
nothing  tlse  for  it,"  was  Cadet's  reply. 

"  Well,  I  V,  ill  do  worse,  if  worse  can  be  ;  for  marry  her 
I  will  not !  '■   snid  Bigot,  stamping  his  foot  upon  the  floor. 

"  It  is  ur.derstood,  then,  Bigot  !  not  a  word,  a  hint,  a 
look  is  to  be  given  to  Angelique  regarding  your  suspicions 
of  her  complicity  in  this  murder  !" 

"  Yes,  it  is  understood.  The  secret  is  like  the  devil's 
tontine — he  catches  the  last  possessor  of  it." 

"  I  expect  to  be  the  last,  then,  if  I  keep  in  your  com- 
pany, Bigot,"  remarked  Cadet. 

Cadet  having  settled  this  point  to  his  mind,  reclined 
back  in  his  easy  chair  and  smoked  on  in  silence  while  the 
Intendant  kept  walking  the  floor,  anxiously,  because  he 
saw  farther  than  his  companion  the  shadows  of  coming 
events. 

Sometimes  he  stopped  impatiently  at  the  window,  beat- 
ing a  tattoo  with  his  nails  on  the  polished  casement  as  he 
gazed  out  upon  the  beautiful /<r/'Ar/vj-  of  autumnal  flowers, 
beginning  to  shed  their  petals  around  the  gardens  of  the 
Palace.  He  looked  at  them  without  seeing  them.  All 
that  caught  his  eye  was  a  bare  rose  bush,  from  which  he 
remembered  he  had  plucked  some  white  roses,  which  he 
had  sent  to  Caroline  to  adorn  her  oratory  ;  and  he  thought 
of  her  face,  more  pale  and  delicate  than  any  rose  of  Prov- 
ence that  ever  bloomed.  His  thoughts  ran  violently  in 
two  parallel  streams  side  by  side,  neither  of  them  disap- 
pearing for   a  moment   amid  the  crowd    of  other  affairs 


THE  INTEXDANT'S  DILEMMA. 


549 


Mght 


that  pressed  upon  his  attention — the  murder  of  Caroline 
and  the  perquisition  that  was  to  be  mack  for  her  ui  all 
quarters  of  the  colony — His  own  safety  was  too  deeply 
involved  in  any  discovery  that  mi<;ht  be  made  respecting 
her,  to  allow  him  to  drop  the  subject  out  of  his  thought  for 
a  moment. 

By  imposing  absolute  silence  upon  himself  in  the  pres- 
ence of  A:  go li que,  touching  the  death  of  Caroline,  he 
might  impose  a  like  silence  upon  her  whom  he  could  not 
acquit  of  the  suspicion  of  having  prompted  the  murder. 
But  the  certainty  that  there  was  a  confederate  in  the  deed 
— a  woman,  too,  judging  by  the  fragment  of  writing  pick(;d 
up  by  Cadet — tormented  him  with  endless  conjectures. 

Still  he  felt,  for  the  present,  secure  from  any  discovery 
on  that  side  ;  but  how  to  escape  from  the  sharp  inquisition 
of  two  men  like  La  Corne  St,  Luc  and  Pierre  IMiilibert.'' 
and  who  knew  how  far  the  secret  of  Beaumanoir  was  a 
secret  any  longer .''  It  was  known  to  two  women  at  any 
rate,  and  no  woman,  in  Bigot's  estimation  of  the  sex,  would 
long  keep  a  secret  which  concerned  another  and  not  her- 
self. 

"  Our  greatest  danger.  Cadet,  lies  there  !  "  continued  the 
Intendant,  stopping  in  his  walk  and  turning  suddenly  to 
his  friend.  "  La  Corne  St.  Luc  and  Pierre  Philibert  are 
commissioned  bv  the  Governor  to  search  for  that  jrirl. 
They  will  not  leave  a  stone  unturned,  a  corner  tnnan- 
sacked  in  New  France.  'I'hev  will  find  out  throujrh  the 
Hurons  and  my  own  servants  that  a  woman  has  been  con- 
cealed in  Beaumanoir.  They  will  suspect,  if  they  do  not 
discover,  who  she  was.  Thev  will  not  find  her  on  eartii — 
they  will  look  for  her  under  the  eaith.  .Vnd,  by  St.  ^L^ur! 
it  makes  me  quake  to  think  of  it,  Cadet  for  the  discovery 
will  be  utter  .uin  !  They  may  at  last  dig  up  her  murdered 
remains  in  my  own  chateau  !  As  you  said,  the  Bastile  and 
the  Phice  de  Creve  would  be  my  portion,  and  ruin  yours 
and  that  of  all  our  associates." 

Cadet  held  up  his  pipe  as  if  appealingly  to  Heaven 
"It  is  a  cursed  reward  for  our  charitable  night  .s  work, 
Bigot,"  said  he.  "Better  you  had  never  lied  about  the 
girl.  We  could  have  brazened  it  out  or  fought  it  out  with 
the  Baron  de  St.  Castin  or  any  man  in  France  !  That  lie 
will  convict  us  if  found  out !  " 

"  Pshaw  !  the  lie  was  a  necessity,"  answered  Bigot,  im- 


550 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


patiently.  "  But  who  could  have  dreamed  of  its  leading  us 
such  a  dance  as  it  has  done  !  l\ir  Dieu .'  I  have  not  often 
lied  except  to  women,  and  such  lies  do  not  count  !  But  I 
had  better  have  stuck  to  truth  in  this  matter,  Cadet.  I 
acknowledge  that  now." 

"  Especially  with  La  Pompadour!  She  is  a  woman. 
It  is  danj^erous  to  lie  to  her — at  least  about  other  women." 

"  Well,  Cadet,  it  is  useless  blessing  the  Pope  or  ban- 
ning the  Devil  !  We  are  in  for  it,  and  we  must  meet  La 
Corne  St.  Luc  and  Pierre  Philibert  as  warily  as  we  can.  I 
have  been  thinking  of  making  safe  ground  for  us  to  stand 
upon,  as  the  trappers  do  on  the  great  prairies,  by  kindling 
a  fire  in  front  to  escape  from  the  fire  in  tiie  rear  !  " 

"  What  is  that,  Bigot  ?  I  could  fire  the  chateau  rather 
than  be  tracked  out  by  La  Corne  and  Philibert,"  said 
Cadet,  sitting  upright  in  his  chair. 

"  What,  burn  the  chateau  !  "  answered  Bigot.  "  You 
are  mad,  Cadet !  No  ;  but  it  were  well  to  kindle  such  a 
smoke  about  the  eyes  of  La  Corne  and  Philibert  that  they 
will  need  to  rub  them  to  ease  their  own  pain  instead  of 
looking  for  poor  Caroline." 

"  How,  Bigot  ?  Will  you  challenge  and  fight  them  ? 
That  will  not  avert  suspicion  but  increase  it !  "  remarked 
Cadet. 

"  Well,  you  will  see  !  A  man  will  need  as  many  eyes 
as  Argus  to  discover  our  hands  in  this  business. 

Cadet  started,  without  conjecturing  what  the  Intendant 
contemplated.  "  You  will  kill  the  bird  that  tells  tales  on 
us,  Bigot — is  that  it  ?  "  added  he. 

"  I  mean  to  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone,  Cadet !  Hark 
you  ;  I  will  tell  you  a  scheme  shall  put  a  stop  to  these 
perquisitions  by  La  Corne  and  Philibert — the  only  two 
men  I  fear  in  the  colony — and  at  the  same  time  deliver  me 
from  the  everlasting  bark  and  bite  of  the  Golden  Dog  ! " 

Bigot  led  Cadet  to  the  window,  and  poured  in  his  ear 
the  burning  passions  which  were  fermenting  in  his  own 
breast.  He  propounded  a  scheme  of  deliverance  for  him- 
self and  of  crafty  vengeance  upon  the  Philiberts,  which 
would  turn  the  thoughts  of  every  one  away  from  the  chrueau 
of  Beaumanoir  and  the  missing  Caroline,  into  a  new  stream 
of  public  and  private  troubles,  amid  the  confusion  of  which 
he  would  escape,  and  his  present  dangers  be  overlooked 
and  forgotten  in  a  great  catastrophe  that  might  upset  the 


"  /  WILL  FEED  FA  T  TILE  ANCIENT  GRUDGE,  &-C."  551 

colony,  but  at  any  rate  it  would  free  Bigot  from  his  embar- 
rassments and  perhaps  inaugurate  a  new  reign  of  pulilic 
plunder  and  the  suppression  of  the  whole  party  of  the 
Honnctes  Gens. 


CHAPTER   XLIX. 


"  I    WILL    FEED    FAT   THE   ANCIENT   GRUDGE    I    REAR    HIM." 


THE  Treaty  of  Aix  La  Chapelle,  so  long  tossed  about 
on  the  waves  of  war,  was  finally  signed  in  the  beginning 
of  October.  A  swift-sailing  gock/te  of  Dieppe  brought  the 
tidings  to  New  France,  and  in  the  early  nights  of  Novem- 
ber, from  Quebec  to  Montreal.  Bonfires  on  every  headhiud 
blazed  over  the  broad  river  ;  churches  were  decorated  with 
evergreens,  and  ft'  dcums  sung  in  gratitude  for  the  return  of 
peace  and  security  to  the  colony. 

New  France  came  out  of  the  struggle  scathed  and 
scorched  as  by  fire,  but  unshorn  of  territory  or  territorial 
rights  ;  and  the  glad  colonists  forgot  and  forgave  the  terri- 
ble sacrifices  they  had  made  in  the  universal  joy  that  their 
country,  their  religion,  language,  and  laws  were  sliil  safe 
under  the  Crown  of  France,  with  the  white  banner  still 
floating  over  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis. 

On  the  day  after  the  arrival  of  the  Dieppe  goclt'tte, 
bringing  the  news  of  peace,Bigot  sat  before  his  desk,  reading 
his  despatches  and  letters  from  France,  when  theChexaUer 
de  Pean  entered  the  room  with  a  bundle  of  paix-rs  in  his 
hand,  brought  to  the  palace  by  the  Chief  Clerk  of  the 
Bourgeois  Philibert,  for  the  Intendant's  signature. 

The  Bourgeois,  in  the  course  of  his  great  commercial 
dealings,  got  possession  of  innumerable  orders  upon  the 
Royal  Treasury,  which  in  due  course  had  to  be  presented 
to  the  Intendant  for  his  official  signature.  The  signing  of 
these  Treasury  orders  in  favor  of  the  Bourjeois,  never  failed 
to  throw  Bigot  into  a  fit  of  ill-humor.   . 

On  the  present  occasion  he  sat  down  muttering  ten 
thousand  curses  upon  the  liourgeois,  as  he  glanced  over 
the  papers  with  knitted  eyebrows  and  teeth  set  hard  to- 
gether.    He  signed   the  mass   of  orders  and  drafts   made 


fi  ll 


552 


TirE  C  in  F.N  D'OR. 


payable  to  Nicholas  IMiilibcrt,  and  when  clone,  threv/  into 
the  tire  the  pen  which  had  performed  so  unwelcome  an 
otifice.  Bi<^ot  sent  for  the  Chief  Clerk  who  had  brought 
the  bills  and  orders,  and  who  waited  for  them  in  the  ante- 
chamber. "Tell  your  master,  the  Bourgeois,"  said  he, 
"  that  for  this  time,  and  only  to  prevent  loss  to  the  foolish 
officers,  the  Intendant  has  signed  these  army  bills  ;  but 
that  if  he  purchase  more,  in  defiance  of  the  sole  right  of 
the  Grand  C'ompany,  I  shall  not  sign  them.  This  shall  be 
the  last  time,  tell  him  !  " 

The  Chief  Clerk,  a  sturdy,  grey  haired  Afaloiiin,  was 
nothing  daunted  by  the  angry  look  of  the  Intendant.  "  I 
shall  inform  the  Bourgeois  of  your  Excellency's  wishes," 
said  he,  "  and — " 

"Inform  him  of  my  commands!"  exclaimed  Bigot, 
sharply.  "  What !  have  you  more  to  say  ?  But  you  would 
not  be  the  Chief  Clerk  of  the  Bourgeois  without  possessing 
a  good  stock  of  his  insolence  !  " 

"Pardon  me,  your  Excellency!"  replied  the  Chief 
Clerk,  "  [  was  only  going  to  observe  that  His  Excellency 
the  Governor  and  the  Commander  of  the  Forces,  both, 
have  decided  that  the  officers  may  transfer  their  warrants 
to  whomsoever  they  will." 

"You  are  a  bold  feVDw,  with  your  Breton  speech  !  but 
by  all  the  saints  in  Saintonge  !  I  will  see  whether  the 
Royal  Intendant  or  the  Bourgeois  Phihbert  shall  control 
this  matter  !     And  as  for  you — " 

"Tut  !  aiTc  canon!  let  this  cur  go  back  to  his  master," 
interrupted  Cadet,  amused  at  the  coolness  of  the  Chief 
Clerk.  "  Hark  you,  fellow  !  "  said  he,  "  present  my  com- 
1  liments — the  Sieur  Cadet's  compliments — to  your  master, 
and  tell  him  I  hope  he  will  bring  his  next  batch  of  army 
bills  himself,  and  remind  him  that  it  is  soft  falling  at  low 
tide  out  of  the  windows  of  the  Friponnc!" 

"  I  shall  certainly  advise  my  master  not  to  come  him- 
self, Sieur  Cadet,"  replied  the  Chief  C'erk  ;  "  and  I  am 
very  certain  of  returning  in  three  days  with  more  army 
bills  for  the  signature  of  His  Excellencv  the  Intendant." 

"  Get  out,  you  fool  !  "  shouted  Cadet,  laughing  at  what 
he  regarded  the  insolence  of  the  Clerk.  "  You  are  worthy 
of  your  master  !  "  And  Cadet  pushed  him  forcibly  out  of 
the  door,  and  shut  it  after  him  with  a  b^ng  that  resounded 
through  the  palace. 


«  /  WILL  FEED  FA  T  THE  AJVCIENT  GRUDGE,  &*C: 


553 


d 


"  Don't  be  angry  at  him,  Bigot  ;  he  is  not  worth  it," 
said  Cadet.  '  Like  master  like  man,'  as  the  proverb  says. 
And,  after  all,  I  doubt  whether  the  furred  law  cats  of  the 
Parliament  of  Paris  would  not  uphold  the  Bourgeois  in  an 
appeal  to  them  from  the  Golden  Dog." 

Bigot  was  excessively  irritated,  for  he  was  lawyer 
enough  to  know  that  Cadet's  fear  was  well  founded.  He 
walked  up  and  down  his  cabinet,  venting  curses  upon  the 
heads  of  the  whole  party  of  the  Honnctes  Gens,  the  Gover- 
nor and  C(Mnmander  of  the  Forces  included.  The  Mar- 
quise de  Pompadour,  too,  came  in  for  a  full  share  of  his 
maledictions,  for  Bigot  knew  that  she  had  forced  die  sign- 
ing of  the  treaty  of  Aix  La  Chapclle — inHuenced  less  by 
the  exhaustion  of  France  than  by  a  feminine  dislike  to 
camp  life,  which  she  had  shared  with  the  King,  and  a 
resolution  to  withdraw  him  back  to  the  gayeties  of  the 
Capital,  where  he  would  be  wholly  under  her  own  eye  and 
influence. 

"  She  prefers  love  to  honor,  as  all  women  do  !"  remarked 
Bigot ;  "  and  likes  money  better  than  either.  'I'he  Grand 
Company  pays  the  fiddlers  for  the  xo\?\  fetes  at  Versailles, 
while  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  skims  the  cream  olT  the  trade 
of  the  colony.  This  peace  will  increase  his  power  and 
make  his  influence  double  what  it  is  already   !  " 

"  Fgad  !  Bigot,"  replied  Cadet,  who  sat  near  him,  smok- 
ing a  large  pipe  of  tobacco.  "  You  speak  like  a  preacher 
in  Lent.  We  have  hitherto  buttered  our  bread  on  both 
sides,  but  the  Company  will  soon,  I  fear,  have  no  bread  to 
butter  !  I  doubt  we  shall  have  to  eat  vour  decrees,  which 
will  be  the  only  things  left  in  the  prssession  of  the  Frip- 
onne  !  " 

"  My  decrees  have  been  hard  to  digest  for  some  people 
who  think  they  will  now  eat  us.  Look  at  that  pile  of 
orders.  Cadet,  in  favor  of  die  Golden  Dog  !  " 

The  Intendant  had  long  regarded  with  indignation  the 
ever  increasing  trade  and  influence  of  the  Bourgeois  Phili- 
bert, who  had  become  the  grent  banker  as  well  as  the  great 
merchant  of  the  Colony,  able  lO  meet  'he  Grand  Company 
itself  upon  its  own  ground,  and  fairly  divide  with  it  the 
interior  as  well  as  the  exterior  - mimerce  of  the  colony. 

"Where  is  this  thing  going  to  end  ?  "  exclaimed  Bigot, 
sweeping  from  him  the  pile  of  bills  of  exchange  that  lay 
upon  the  table.     "  That  Philibert  is  gaining  ground  upon 


SS4 


THE  C HI  EN  D' OR. 


US  every  clay  !  He  is  now  buying  up  army  bills,  and  ccn 
the  King's  officers  are  (locking  to  him  with  their  certifi- 
cates of  pay  and  drafts  on  France,  which  he  cashes  at  half 
the  discount  charged  by  the  Company !  " 

"Give  the  cursed  pipers  to  the  clerk  and  send  him  ofT, 
De  Pean  !  "  said  Bigot. 

De  Pean  obeyed  with  a  grimace,  and  returned. 

"  This  thing  must  be  stopped  and  shall!  "  continued 
the  Intendant  savagely. 

"That  is  true,  your  Excellency,"  said  De  Pean.  "  And 
we  have  tried  vigorously  to  stop  the  evil,  but  so  far  in  vain. 
The  Governor  and  the  Honnctcs  Gens,  and  too  many  of  the 
officers  themselves,  countenance  his  opposition  to  the  Com- 
pany. The  Pourgeois  draws  a  good  bill  upon  Paris  and 
Bordi^uix  ;  and  tliey  are  fast  finding  it  out." 

"  The  Golden  Dog  is  drawing  half  the  money  of  the 
colony  into  his  coffers,  and  he  will  blow  up  the  credit  of 
the  Friponne  some  fine  day  when  we  least  expect  it,  unless 
he  be  chained  up,"  replied  Bigot. 

"  '^  incihant  c/iicn  court  licn,^  says  the  proverb,  and  so 
say  I,"  replied  Cadet.  "  The  Golden  Dog  has  barked  at 
us  for  a  long  time — par  dicii  !  he  bites  now  ! — ere  long  he 
will  gnaw  our  bones  in  reality  as  he  does  in  effigy,  upon 
that  cursed  tablet  in  the  Rue  Buade." 

"  Every  dog  has  his  day,  and  the  Golden  Dog  has  nearly 
had  his,  Cadet.     But  what  do  you  advise  ."*  "  asked  Bigot. 

"  Hang  him  up  with  a  short  rope  and  a  shorter  shrift, 
Bigot !  You  have  warrant  enough  if  your  court  friends  are 
worth  half  a  handful  of  chaff." 

"  But  they  a!  e  not  worth  half  a  handful  of  chaff.  Cadet. 
If  I  hung  the  Bourgeois  there  would  be  such  a  cry  raised 
among  the  Honnclcs  Gais  in  the  colony,  and  the  whole 
tribe  of  Jansenists  in  France,  that  I  doubt  whether  even 
the  power  of  the  Marquise  could  sustain  me." 

Cadet  looked  quietly  truculent.  He  drew  Bigot  aside. 
"There  are  more  ways  than  one  to  choke  a  dog.  Bigot," 
said  he.  "  You  may  put  a  tight  collar  outside  his  throat 
or  a  sweetened  roll  inside  of  it.  Some  course  must  be 
found,  and  that  promptly.  We  shall,  before  many  days, 
have  La  Corne  St.  Luc  and  young  Philibert,  like  a  couple 
of  stag  hounds  in  full  cry,  at  our  lieels,  about  that  business 
at  the  chfiteau.  They  must  be  thrown  off  that  scent,  come 
what  will,  Bigot !  " 


"  /  WILL  FEED  FA  T  THE  ANCIENT  GRUDGE^  <Sr>C.  555 


off, 


The  pressure  of  time  nnd  circiimstince  wns  clrawinj:^ 
a  narrower  circle  round  the  lutendant.  The  advent  of 
peace  would,  he  believed,  inau;;urate  a  personal  war  against 
himself.  The  murder  of  Caroline  was  a  hard  blow,  and 
the  necessity  of  concealin;j;  it  irritated  him  with  a  sense  of 
fear,  foreijjn  to  his  character. 

His  suspicion  of  Anj^elique  tormented  him  day  and 
night.  He  had  loved  Angelique  in  a  sensual,  admiring 
way,  without  one  grain  of  real  respect.  He  worshipped 
her  one  moment  as  the  Aphrodite  of  his  fancy  ;  he  was 
ready  to  strip  and  scourge  her  the  next  as  the  possible 
murderess  of  Caroline.  But  Bigot  had  fettered  himself 
with  a  lie,  and  had  to  hide  his  thoughts  under  degrading 
concealments.  He  knew  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour  was 
jealously  watching  him  from  afar.  'IMie  sharpest  intellects 
and  most  untiring  men  in  the  colony  were  connnissioned  to 
find  out  the  truth  regarding  the  fate  of  Caroline.  Bigot 
was  like  a  stag  brought  to  bay.  An  ordinary  man  would 
have  succumbed  in  despair,  but  the  very  desperation  of  his 
position  stirred  up  the  Intendant  to  a  greater  effort  to  free 
himself.  He  cared  nothing  for  the  morality  or  immorality 
of  any  course,  if  it  only  ensured  success  and  brought 
safety  ! 

He  walked  gloomily  up  and  down  the  room,  absorbed 
in  deep  thought.  Cadet,  who  guessed  what  was  brooding 
in  his  mind,  made  a  sign  to  De  Pean  to  wait  and  see  what 
would  be  the  result  of  his  cogitations. 

Bigot,  gesticulating  with  his  right  hand  and  his  left, 
went  on  balancing,  as  in  a  pair  of  scales,  the  chances  of 
success  or  failure  in  the  blow  he  meditated  against  the 
Golden  Dog.  A  blow  which  would  scatter  to  the  winds  the 
inquisition  set  on  foot  to  discover  the  hiding-place  of  Caro- 
line. 

He  stopped  suddenly  in  his  walk,  striking  both  hands 
together,  as  if  in  sign  of  some  resolution  arrived  at  in  his 
thoughts. 

"  De  Pean  !  "  said  he  ;  *'  has  Le  Gardeur  de  Repen- 
tigny  shown  any  desire  j-'et  to  break  out  of  the  palace.'  " 

"  None,  your  Excellency.  He  is  fixed  as  a  bridge  to 
fortune.  You  can  no  more  break  him  down  than  the  Pont 
JMeiif  wX  Paris.  He  lost,  last  night,  a  thousand  at  cards 
and  five  hundred  at  di(^e  ;  then  drank  himself  dead  drunk 
until  three  o'clock  this  afternoon.     He  has  just  risen  ;  his 


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556 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


valet  was  washing  his  head  and  feet  in  brandy  when  I  came 
here." 

"  You  are  a  friend  that  sticks  closer  than  a  brother, 
De  Pean.  Le  Gardeur  believes  in  you  as  his  guardian 
angel,  does  he  not  ?  "  asked  Bigot,  with  a  sneer. 

*'  When  he  is  drunk  he  does,"  replied  De  Pean  ;  "when 
he  is  sober  I  care  not  to  approach  him  too  nearly  !  He  is 
a  wild  colt  that  will  kick  his  groom  when  rubbed  the  wrong 
way  ;  and  every  way  is  wrong  when  the  wine  is  out  of 
him." 

"  Keep  him  full  then  I  "exclaimed  Bigot,  "you  have  groom- 
ed him  well,  De  Pean !  but  he  must  now  be  saddled  and 
ridden  to  hunt  down  the  biggest  stag  in  New  France !  " 

De  Pean  looked  hard  at  the  Intendant,  only  half  compre- 
hending his  allusion,  "You  once  tried  your  hand  with  Ma- 
demoiselle de  Reiientigny  did  you  not  ?"  continued  Bigot — 

"  I  did,  your  Excellency.^  but  that  bunch  of  grapes  was 
too  high  for  me.     They  are  very  sour  now." 

"  Siv  fox  that  vou  were?  Well,  do  not  call  them  sour 
yet,  De  Pean.  Another  jump  at  the  vine  and  you  may  reach 
that  bunch  of  perfection  !  "  said  iiigot,  looking  hard  at  him. 

"  Your  Excellenc  ,'  overrates  my  ability  in  that  quarter  and 
if  I  were  permitted  to  choose — " 

"  Another  and  a  fairer  maid  would  be  your  choice.  I  see, 
De  Pean,  you  are  a  connoisseur  in  women.  Be  it  as  you 
wish  !  manage  this  business  of  Philibert  discreetly  and  I 
will  coin  the  Golden  Dog  into  doubloons  for  a  marriage 
portion  for  Angelique  des  Meloises  ?  You  understand  me 
now  ?  " 

De  Pean  started.  He  hardly  guessed  yet  what  was 
required  of  him,  but  he  cared  not  in  the  dazzling  prospect 
of  such  a  wife  and  fortune,  as  were  thus  held  out  to  him. 

'"Your  Excellency  will  really  support  niy  suit  wiih 
Angel ique  ?  "  De  Pean  seemed  to  mistrust  the  possibility  of 
such  a  piece  of  disinterestedness  on  the  part  of  the  In- 
tendant. 

"  I  will  not  only  commend  your  suit,  but  I  will  give 
away  the  bride,  and  Madame  De  Pean  shall  not  miss  any 
favor  from  me  which  she  has  deserved  as  Angel  ique  des 
Meloises," — was  Bigot's  reply  without  changing  a  muscle  of 
his  face. 

"  And  your  Excellency  will  give  her  to  me  ? "  De  Pean 
could  hardly  believe  his  ears. 


"  I  WILL  FEED  FA  T  THE  ANCIENT  GRUDGE,''  &-€.  557 


of 


I  see, 


'*  Assuredly  you  shall  have  her  if  you  like,"  cried  Bigot, 
"  and  with  a  dowry  as  has  not  been  seen  in  New  France  !  " 

"  But  who  would  like  to  have  her  at  any  pi  ice  ?  "  muttered 
Cadet  to  himself,  with  a  quiet  smile  of  contempt — Cadet 
thought  De  Pean  a  fool  for  jumping  at  a  hook  bailed  with  a 
woman,  but  he  knew  what  the  Intendanl  was  diiving  at 
and  admired  the  skill  with  which  he  angled  for  De  Pean  ! 
"  But  Angelique  may  not  consent  to  this  disposal  of  her 
hand,"  replied  De  Pean  with  an  uneasy  look,  "  I  should  be 
afraid  of  your  gift  unless  she  believed  that  she  took  me, 
and  not  I  her." 

"  Hark  you,  de  Pean  !  you  do  not  know  what  women 
like  her  are  made  of,  or  you  woukl  be  at  no  loss  how  to 
bait  your  hook  !  You  have  made  four  millions  they  say,  out 
of  tliis  war,  if  not  more  !  " 

"I  never  counted  it,  your  Excellency,  but  much  or  little 
I  owe  it  all  to  your  friendship,''  replied  De  Pean  with  a 
touch  of  mock  humilitx'. 

"  My  friendship  !  Well,  so  be  it.  It  is  enough  to  make 
Angelique  des  Meioises  Madame  De  P(  an  when  she  linds 
she  cannot  be  Madame  Intendant.  Do  you  see  your  way 
now,  De  Pean  !  " 

"  Yes,  your  Excellency,  and  I  cannot  be  sufficiently 
grateful  for  such  a  proof  of  your  goodness."  Bigot  laughed 
a  dry  meaning  laugh.  "  I  truly  hope  you  will  always 
think  so  of  my  friendship,  De  Pean  !  If  you  do  not,  you 
are  not  the  man  I  take  you  to  be  ?  now  for  our  scheme  of 
deliverance  !  " 

"  Hearken,  De  Pean,"  continued  the  Intendant  fixing 
his  dark  fiery  eyes  upon  his  secretary,  you  have  craft  and 
cunning  to  work  out  this  design  and  good  will  to  hasten  it 
on.  Cadet  and  I  considering  the  necessities  of  the  Grand 
Company  have  resolved  to  put  an  end  to  the  rivalry  and 
arrogance  of  the  Golden  Dog.  We  will  treat  the  Bourgeois," 
Bigot  smiled  meaningly,  "  not  as  a  trader  with  a  baton,  but 
as  a  gentleman  with  a  sword  ;  for  although  a  merchant,  the 
Bourgeois  is  noble  anel  wears  a  sword  which  under  jiroper 
provocation  he  will  draw,  and  remember  he  can  use  it  too  ! 
He  can  be  tolerated  no  longer  by  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Company.  They  have  often  jiressi'd  me  in  vain  to  take  this 
step,  but  I  now  yield.  Hark,  I  )e  Pean  !  The  Bourgeois  must 
be  insulted,  challenged  and  killed  b\'  some  gentleman  of  the 
Company,  with  courage  and  skill  enough  to  champion  its 


5S8 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


(     !, 


1.1 


rights.  But  mind  you  !  it  must  be  done  fairly  and  in  open 
day  and  without  my  knowledge  or  approval  !  Do  you 
understand  ?  " 

Bigot  winked  at  De  Pean  and  smiled  furtively  as  much 
as  to  say:  "  V^ou  know  ho->v  to  interpret  my  words  !'' 

"  I  understand  your  Excellency !  and  it  shall  be  no 
fault  of  mine  if  your  wishes,  which  chime  with  my  own,  be 
not  carried  out  before  many  days.  A  dozen  ])artners  of  the 
Company  will  be  proud  to  light  with  the  Bourgeois  if  he 
will  only  fight  with  them." 

'*  No  fear  of  that,  1  )e  Pean  !  give  the  devil  his  due.  Insult 
the  Bourgeois  and  he  will  fight  with  the  seven  champions  of 
Christendom  !  so  mind  vou  get  a  man  able  for  him  I  lor  I  tell 
you,  De  Pean,  I  doubt  if  there  be  over  three  gentlemer.  in 
the  colony  who  could  cross  swords  fairly  and  successiully 
with  the  JJourgeois." 

"It  will  be  easier  to  insult  and  kill  him  in  a  chance 
medley  than  to  risk  a  duel  !  "  interrupted  Cadet,  who  list- 
ened with  intense  eagerness.  "  I  tell  you,  Bigot  !  young 
Philibert  will  pink  any  man  of  our  party.  If  there  be  a 
duel  he  will  insist  on  fighting  it  for  his  father.  The  old 
Bourgeois  will  not  be  caught,  but  we  shall  catch  a  tartar 
instead  in  the  young  one." 

"  Well  duel  or  chance  medley  be  it !  I  dare  not  have 
him  assassinated,"  replied  the  Intendant,  "  He  must  be 
fought  with  in  open  day  and  not  killed  in  a  corner.  Eh, 
Cadet  !  am  I  not  right  1  " 

Bigot  looked  for  approval  from  Cadet,  who  saw  that  he 
was  thinking  of  the  secret  chamber  at  Beaumanoir. 

"  You  are  right,  Bigot !  He  must  be  killed  in  open  day 
and  not  in  a  corner.  But  who  have  we  among  us  capable  of 
making  sure  work  of  the  Bourgeois  "i  " 

"  Leave  it  to  me,"  replied  De  Pean  !  "  I  know  one  partner 
of  the  company  who  if  I  can  get  him  in  harness  will  run  our 
chariot  wheels  in  triumph  over  the  Golden  Dog." 

"  And  who  is  that  "i  "  asked  Bigot  eagerly. 

"  La  Ciardeur  de  Repenligny  !  "  exclaimed  De  Pean, 
with  a  look  of  exultation. 

"  Pshaw  !  he  would  draw  upon  us  more  readily  !  Why 
he  is  bewitched  with  the  Philiberts  !  "  replied  Bigot. 

"  I  shall  find  means  to  break  the  s|)ell  long  enough  to 
answer  our  purpose,  your  Excellency!"  replied  De  Pean. 
"Permit  me  only  to  take  my  own  way  with  him." 


i 


youno^ 


"  /  WILL  FEED  FA  T  THE  AXCIENT  GRUDGE,"  &'C.  559 

•'  AssurecHv,  take  vour  own  wav,  De  Pean  !  A  bloodv 
scuffle  between  l)e  Repentigny  and  the  JJourgeois,  would 
not  only  be  a  victory  for  the  com|:)any  but  would  break  up 
the  whole  party  of  the  Honnctcs  Gens  .f' 

The  Intendant  slapped  I)e  Pean  on  the  shoulder  and 
shook  him  by  the  hand,  "  You  are  more  clever  than  I 
believed  you  to  be,  I)e  Pean.  You  have  hit  on  a  mode  of 
riddance  which  will  entitle  you  to  the  best  reward  in  the 
power  of  tiie  compmy  to  bestow." 

"  My  best  reward  will  be  the  fulfdment  of  your  promise, 
your  Excellency,"  answered  l)e  Pean. 

"  I  will  keep  my  word,  De  Pean !  By  God  you  shall 
have  Angelique  with  such  a  dowry  as  the  company  can 
alone  give !  or  if  you  do  not  want  the  girl,  you  shall  have 
the  dowrv  without  the  wife  !  " 

"I  shall  claim  both,  your  Excellency!   but — " 

"  But  what .''  confess  all  your  doubts,  De  Pean  !  " 

"Le  Gardeur  may  claim  her  as  his  own  reward  !  "  De 
Pean  guessed  correctly  enough  the  true  bent  of  Ange'lique's 
fancy. 

"  No  fear  !  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  drunk  or  sober  is 
a  gentleman.  He  would  reject  the  princess  d'Elide  were 
she  offered  on  such  conditions  as  you  take  her  on.  He  is 
a  romantic  fool  ;  he  believes  in  woman's  virtue  and  all  that 
stuff!" 

"  Besides  if  he  kill  the  Bourgeois  he  will  have  to  fight 
Pierre  Philibert  before  his  sword  is  dry!"  interjected 
Cadet.  "  I  would  not  give  a  Dutch  stiver  for  Le  Gardeur's 
bones  five  hours  after  he  has  pinked  the  Bourgeois !  " 

The  prospect,  nay,  the  certainty  of  a  second  duel 
between  Le  Gardeur  and  Pierre  Philibert,  should  the 
Bourgeois  be  killed,  satisfied  all  the  doubts  of  De  Pean, 
who  felt  himself  secure  in  the  reversion  of  Angelique  and 
the  rich  dowry  promised  by  the  Intendant. 

They  were  now  all  eager  to  set  on  fv.ot  the  diabolical 
scheme  of  murder.  These  thorough  men  of  the  age,  glossed 
over  it  as  a  legitimate  compromise  between  honor  and 
necessity.  The  Bourgeois  was  to  be  killed,  but  in  a  way 
to  reflect  no  discredit  either  upon  the  contrivers  of  his 
death  or  upon  the  unwitting  instrument  selected  to  accom- 
plish it. 

An  open  duel  in  form  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  because 
in  that  they  would  have  to  fight  tlie  son  and  not  the  father. 


^^ 


,^. 


•IB  If 


1 


ii^i 


i 


560 


THE  ClIIE.y  D'OR, 


and  the  f^rcat  object  would  be  frustrated.  P.iit  the  Bour- 
geois might  be  killetl  in  a  sudden  fray,  when  bh)od  was  up 
and  swords  drawn,  when  no  one,  "  as  He  Pean  remarked," 
would  be  able  to  lind  an  J  undotted  or  a  7' uncrossed  in  a 
fair  record  of  the  transaction,  which  would  impose  upon 
the  most  critical  judge  as  an  honorable  and  justihable  act 
of  self  defence  ! 

This  was  Cadet's  real  intent,  and  perhaps  Bigot's,  but 
the  Intendant's  thoughts  lay  at  unfathom.ibie  depths,  and 
were  not  to  be  discovered  by  any  traces  upon  the  surface. 
No  divining  rod  could  ttll  wliere  the  secret  spring  la)  hid 
which  ran  under  Bigot's  motives. 

Not  so  De  Pean.  lie  meditated  treachery  and  it  were 
hard  to  say,  whether  it  was  unnoted  by  the  penetrating 
eye  of  Bigot.  'J'he  Intendant,  however,  did  not  interfere 
farther,  either  by  word  or  sign,  but  left  De  Pean  to  accom- 
plish in  his  own  way  the  bloody  object  they  all  had  in 
view,  namely,  the  death  of  the  Bourgeois  and  the  break  up 
of  the  Honnctes  Gens.  De  Pean,  while  resolving  to  make 
Le  Gardeur  the  tool  of  his  wickedness,  did  not  dare  to  take 
him  into  his  confidence.  He  had  to  be  kept  in  absolute 
ignorance  of  the  part  he  was  to  play  in  the  bloody  tragedy 
until  the  moment  of  its  denouement  arrived.  Meantime  he 
must  be  plied  with  drink,  maddened  with  jealousy,  made 
desperate  with  losses  and  at  war  with  himself  and  all  the 
world,  and  then  the  whole  fury  of  his  rage  should  by  tlie 
artful  contrivance  of  De  Pean  be  turned  without  a  minutes 
time  for  reflection,  upon  the  head  of  the  unsuspecting 
Bourgeois. 

To  accomplish  this  successfully,  a  woman's  aid  was 
required,  at  once  to  blind  Le  Gardeur  and  to  sharpen  his 
sword. 

In  the  interests  of  the  company  Angeliquedes  Meioises 
was  at  all  times  a  violent  partizan.  Tiie  Golden  Dog  and 
all  its  belongings  were  objects  of  her  open  aversion.  But 
De  Pean  feared  to  impart  to  her  his  intention  to  push  Le 
Gardeur  blindly  into  the  affair.  She  might  fear  for  the 
life  of  one  she  loved.  De  Pean  reflected  angrily  on  this, 
but  he  determined  she  should  be  on  the  spot.  'I'he  sight 
of  her  and  a  word  from  her,  which  De  I'ean  would  prompt 
at  the  critical  moment,  should  decide  Le  Gardeur  to  attack 
the  Bourgeois  and  kill  him  !  and  then,  what  would  follow  ? 
De  Pean  rubbed  his  hands  with  ecstasy  at  the  thought  that 


Nrt^ 


THE  BOURGEOIS  PHI  LIBERT.  561 

Le  Gardeur  would  inevitably  bite  the  dust  under  the 
avenging  hand  of  Pierre  Philibert,  and  Angelique  would  be 
his  beyond  all  fear  of  rivals. 


CHAPTER  L. 


THE    BOURGEOIS    PHILIBERT. 


It  were 


THE  Bourgeois  Philii^ert  after  an  arduous  day's  work 
was  enjoying  in  his  arm  chair  a  quiet  siesta  in  the  old 
comfortable  parlor  of  his  city  home. 

The  sudden  advent  of  peace  had  opened  the  seas  to 
commerce,  and  a  fleet  of  long  shut  up  merchantmen  were 
rapidly  loading  at  the  quays  of  the  Friponne  as  well  as  at 
those  of  the  Bourgeois,  with  the  products  of  the  Colony 
for  shipment  to  France  before  the  closing  in  of  the  St. 
Lawrence  by  ice.  The  summer  of  St.  Martin  was  linger- 
ing soft  and  warm  on  the  edge  of  winter,  and  every  avail- 
able man,  including  the  soldiers  of  the  garrison,  were  busy 
loading  the  ships  to  get  them  off  in  lime  to  escape  the 
hard  nip  of  winter. 

Dame  Rochelle  sat  near  the  window,  which  to-dav  was 
open  to  the  balmy  air.  She  was  occujiied  in  knitting  and 
occasionally  glancing  at  a  volume  of  Jurieu'shard  Calvin- 
istic  divinity  which  lay  upon  the  table  beside  her.  Her 
spectacles  reposed  upon  the  open  page  where  she  had 
laid  them  down,  while  she  meditated,  as  was  her  custom 
upon  knotty  points  of  doctrine,  touching  free  will,  neces- 
sity, and  election  by  grace  \  regarding  works  as  a  garment 
of  filthy  rags  in  which  publicans  and  sinners  who  trusted 
in  them  were  damned,  while  in  practice  the  good  soul  was 
as  earnest  in  performing  them,  as  if  she  believed  her  salva- 
tion depended  exclusively  thereupon. 

Like  many  of  the  Huguenots,  despite  a  narrow  and 
partial  creed,  her  life  of  pure  morality  made  smooth  a 
hundred  inconsistencies  of  belief.  The  Dame  found  in 
practice  no  difficulty  in  reconciling  contradictions  of  doc- 
trine which  to  less  earnest  Christians  seemed  impossible  to 
be  harmonized.     She  had  long  ago  received  the  blessing 

36 


S62 


THE  CHIEN-  D'OR. 


pronounced  upon  the  pure  in  heart,  that  they  should  see 
God.  It  is  the  understandim^  which  is  of  the  heart  that 
alone  comprehends  s[)iritual  facts,  and  sees  spiritual  truths, 
as  the  presence  of  sunnner  \v^\\.  and  warmth  i>ring  the 
flowers  out  of  the  chirk  earth,  and  till  it  with  abundance. 

Dame  Rochelle  iiad  received  a  new  lease  of  life  by  the 
return  home  of  Pierre  IMiilii^crt.  She  grew  radiant,  ahuost 
gay,  at  the  news  of  his  betrothal  to  Amelie  de  Re[x."nti<iny, 
and  altl)ouL;h  she  could  not  lay  aside  the  black  puritanical 
garb  she  had  worn  so  many  years,  her  kind  face  briL^htened 
from  its  habitual  seriousness.  'I'he  return  of  Pierre  broke 
in  upon  her  (juiet  routine  of  livini;,  like  a  prolonjj^ed  festi- 
val. The  prei^aration  of  the  j^reat  house  of  Belmont  for 
his  young  bride  comj^leted  her  happiness. 

In  her  anxiety  tcj  discover  the  tastes  and  preferences  of 
her  young  mistress,  as  she  already  called  her,  Dame  Ro- 
chelle consulted  Amelie  on  everv  i:!oint  of  her  arrangements, 
finding  her  own  iiniate  sense  of  the  beautiful  quickened  by 
contact  with  that  fresh  young  nature.  She  was  already 
drawn  by  that  infallible  attraction  which  every  one  felt  in 
the  presence  of  Amc'lie. 

"  Amelie  was  too  good  and  too  fair,"  the  dame  said,  *'  to 
become  any  man's  portion  but  Tierre  I'hilibert's  !  " 

The  Dame's  Huguenot  prejudices  melted  like  wax  in 
her  presence,  until  Amelie  almost  divided  with  (Irande 
Marie,  the  saint  of  the  Cevennes,  the  homage  and  blessing 
of  Dame  Rochelle, 

Those  were  days  of  unalloyed  delight  which  she  spent  in 
superintending  the  arrangements  for  the  marriage  which 
had  been  lixed  for  the  festivities  of  Christmas. 

It  was  to  be  celebrated  on  a  scale  worthy  of  the  rank 
of  the  heiress  of  Repentigny  and  of  the  wealth  of  the  Phil- 
iberts.  The  rich  Boingeois,  in  the  gladness  of  his  heart, 
threw  open  all  his  coffers,  and  blessed  with  tears  of  hap- 
piness the  money  he  flung  out  with  both  hands  to  honor 
the  nuptials  of  Pierre  and  Amelie. 

The  sunnner  of  St,  Martin  was  shining  over  the  f  ice  of 
nature.  Its  golden  beams  penetrated  the  very  heart  of  the 
Bourgeois,  and  illumined  all  his  thoughts.  Winter  might 
not  be  far  off,  but  with  peace  in  the  land,  its  coming,  if 
rough,  was  welcome.  Storms  and  tempests  might  be  under 
the  horizon,  but  he  saw  them  not,  and  heeded  them  not. 
His  chief  care  in  life  was  now  to  see  Pierre  married,  and 


THE  BOURGEOIS  PH I  LIBERT. 


563 


if 


secure  in  the  love  of  Anielie  De  Rcpenlip;ny.  After  that 
the  Bourgeois  was  ready  to  bid  a  iiard  world  farewell,  aud 
say  with  devout  Simeon,  '*  Nunc  dimittis  scfvum  tuiim^ 
Domiue  !  in  pace  !^' 

The  Bourgeois  was  profoundly  hai")iiy  during  those  few 
brief  days  of  Indian  summer.  As  a  Christian  he  rejoiced 
that  the  long  desolating  war  was  over.  As  a  colonist,  he 
felt  a  pride  that,  une([ual  as  had  been  the  struggle,  New 
France  remained  unshorn  of  territory,  and  bv  its  resolute 
defence  had  forced  respect  from  even  its  enemies.  In  his 
eager  hope,  he  saw  commerce  revive  and  thea'ls  and  com- 
forts of  peace  take  the  place  of  war  and  destruction  !  The 
husbandman  would  now  reap  for  iiimself  the  harvest  he  had 
sown,  and  no  longer  be  crushed  by  the  exactions  of  the 
Frijionne  ! 

There  was  hope  for  the  country.  The  iniquitous  regime 
of  the  Intendant,  which  had  pleaded  the  war  as  its  justifi- 
cation, nuist  close,  the  Bourgeois  thought,  under  the  new 
conditions  of  peace,  'i'he  hateful  monopoly  of  the  grand 
company  must  be  overthrown  by  the  constitutional  action 
of  {\\Q  /ion nctcs  gens,  and  its  condemnation  by  the  parliament 
of  Paris,  to  which  an  ajipeal  would  presently  be  carried,  it 
was  hoped,  would  be  secured. 

The  king  was  quarrelling  with  the  Jesuits.  The  Moli- 
nists  were  hated  by  La  Pompadour,  and  he  was  certain 
his  majesty  would  never  hold  a  ///  de  Justice  to  command 
the  registration  of  the  decrees  issued  in  his  name  by  the 
Intendant  of  New  France  after  they  had  been  in  form  con- 
demned by  the  parliament  of  Paris.  Such  formed  the  sub- 
jects of  the  meditations  of  the  Bourgeois. 

Dame  Rochelle  continued  plying  her  needles  quietly  as 
she  meditated  by  turns  upon  the  page  of  Jurieu,  by  turns 
upon  the  marriage  of  Pierre  Philii)eri,  illustrating  the  one 
by  the  other,  and  proving  to  iier  own  perfect  content  that 
this  marriage  had  been  from  all  time  predestinate,  and  that 
the  doctrine  of  her  favorite  divine  never  received  a  more 
striking  demonstration  of  its  truth  than  in  the  life-long 
constancv  of  Pierre  and  Amelie  to  their  first  love. 

The  Bourgeois  still  reclined  very  still  on  his  easy  chair. 
He  was  not  asleep.  In  the  day  time  he  never  slept.  His 
thoughts,  like  the  dame's,  reverted  to  Pierre.  He  medi- 
tated the  repurchase  of  his  ancestral  home  in  Normandy, 
and  the  restoration  of  its  ancient  honors  for  his  son. 


|!i"     it 


ui 


564 


T//£  C///EAr  D'OR. 


Personal  and  political  enmity  might  prevent  the  rever- 
sal of  his  own  unjust  condemnation,  but  Pierre  had  won 
renown  in  the  recent  camjxiiijjns.  He  was  favored  with 
the  friendship  of  many  of  the  noijlest  personages  in  France, 
\vho  would  support  his  suit  for  the  restoration  of  his  family 
honors,  while  the  all-potent  influence  of  money,  the  open 
sesame  of  every  door  in  the  Palace  of  Versailles,  would 
not  be  spared  to  advance  his  just  claims. 

The  crown  of  the  Bourgeois'  ambition  would  be  to  see 
Pierre  restored  to  his  ancestral  chateau  as  the  Count  de 
Philibert,  and  Amelie  as  its  noble  Chatelaine,  dispensing 
happiness  among  the  faithful  old  servitors  antl  vassals  of 
his  family,  who  in  all  these  long  years  of  his  exile  never 
forgot  tiitiir  brave  old  seigneur,  who  had  been  banished  to 
New  France. 

His  reflections  took  a  practical  turn,  and  he  enumerated 
in  his  mind  the  friends  he  could  count  upon  in  France  to 
support,  and  the  enemies  who  were  sure  to  o|)pose  the  at- 
tainment of  this  great  object  of  his  ambition.  But  the 
purchase  of  the  chateau  and  lands  of  Philibert  was  in  his 
power.  Its  present  possessor,  a  needy  courtier,  was  deeply 
in  debt,  and  would  be  glad,  the  Bourgeois  had  ascertained, 
to  sell  the  estates  for  such  a  price  as  he  could  easily  offer 
him. 

To  sue  for  simple  justice  in  the  restoration  of  his  inher- 
itance would  be  useless.  It  would  involve  a  life-long  liti- 
gation. The  Bourgeois  preferred  buying  it  back  at  what- 
ever price,  so  that  he  could  make  a  gift  of  it  at  once  to  his 
son,  and  he  had  already  instructed  his  bankers  in  Paris  to 
pay  the  price  asked  by  its  owner,  and  forward  to  him  the 
deeds,  which  he  was  ambitious  to  present  to  Pierre  and 
Amelie  on  the  day  of  their  marriage. 

The  Bourgeois  at  last  looked  up  from  his  revery.  Dame 
Rochelle  closed  her  book,  wailing  for  her  master's  com- 
mands. 

"  Has  Pierre  returned,  Dame  ?  "  asked  he. 

*'  No,  master  ;  he  bade  me  say  he  was  going  to  accom- 
pany Mademoiselle  Amelie  to  Lorette." 

"  Ah  !  Amelie  had  a  vow  to  our  lady  of  St.  Foye,  and 
Pierre,  I  warrant,  desired  to  pay  half  the  debt  !  What 
think  you,  Dame,  of  your  godson  .-•  Is  he  not  promising.-*" 
The  Bourgeois  laughed  quietly,  as  was  his  wont  some- 
times. 


THE  BOURGEOIS  PIIILTBERT. 


565 


\v  hat- 
to  liis 
aris  to 
m  the 
and 


'e,  and 
What 

some- 


Dame  Rochelle  sat  a  shade  more  ujirif:;ht  in  her  chair. 
"  Pierre  is  worthy  of  AmtMie  and  Anielie  of  him,"  replied 
she  gravely  ;  "  never  were  two  out  of  heaven  more  fitly 
matched.  If  they  make  vows  to  the  Lady  of  St.  I''oye  they 
will  pay  them  as  relit^iously  as  if  they  had  made  them  to 
the  Most  High,  to  whom  we  are  commanded  to  pay  our 
vows ! " 

The  good  old  Huguenot  would  have  censured  a  vow  to 
our  Lady  of  St.  l-'oye  in  any  other  but  Ameiic  and  I'ierre. 

"Well,  Dame,  some  turn  to  the  east  and  some  to  the 
west  to  pay  their  vows,  but  the  holiest  shrine  is  where  true 
love  is,  and  there  alone  the  oracle  speaks  in  response  to 
young  hearts.  AmtMie,  sweet,  modest  flower  that  she  is, 
pays  her  vows  to  our  Lady  of  St.  Koye,  Pierre  his  to 
AmtMie  !  I  will  be  bound.  Dame,  there  is  no  saint  in  the 
calendar  so  holy  in  his  eyes  as  herself  !  " 

"  Nor  deserves  to  be,  master  !  Their's  is  no  ordinary 
affection.  If  love  be  the  fultilling  of  the  law,  all  law  is 
fulfilled  in  these  two,  for  never  did  the  elements  of  hap- 
piness mingle  more  sweetly  in  the  soul  of  a  man  and  a 
woman  than  in  Pierre  and  AmtMie!  " 

"  It  will  restore  your  youth.  Dame,  to  live  with  Pierre 
and  AmtMie,"  re])lied  the  Bourgeois.  "  AmtMie  insists  on 
it,  not  because  of  Pierre,  she  says,  but  for  your  own  sake. 
She  was  moved  to  tears  one  day,  Dame,  when  she  made 
me  relate  vour  storv." 

Dame  Rochelle  put  on  her  spectacles  to  cover  her  eyes, 
which  were  fast  filling,  as  she  glanced  down  on  the  black 
robe  she  w^ore,  remembering  for  whom  she  wore  it. 

"Thanks,  master.  It  would  be  a  blessed  thing  to  end 
the  remaining  days  of  my  mourning  in  the  house  of  Pierre 
and  AmtMie,  but  my  quiet  mood  suits  belter  the  house  of 
my  master,  who  has  also  had  his  heart  saddened  by  a  long 
long  day  of  darkness  and  regret." 

"  Yes,  Dame,  but  a  bright  sunset,  T  trust,  awaits  it  now. 
The  descending  shadow  of  the  dial  goes  back  a  pace  on 
the  fortunes  of  my  house  !  I  hope  to  welcome  my  few  re- 
maining years  with  a  gayer  aspect  and  a  lighter  heart  than 
I  have  felt  since  we  were  driven  from  France.  What  would 
you  say  to  see  us  all  reunited  once  more  in  our  old  Norman 
home  ? " 

The  Dame  gave  a  great  start,  and  clasped  her  thin 
hands. 


I 


S66 


rilE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


'   i!i 


K 


' 


"What  wnnlfl  T  say,  master?  O!  to  return  to  France, 
anrl  he  buried  in  the  jj;rcen  valley  of  the  Coted'Or  by  the 
side  of  him,  were  next  to  rising  in  the  resurrection  of  the 
just  at  the  last  day  !" 

'Ihe  liourfTOoJH  knew  well  whon.  she  meant  by  him.  He 
revcreneed  her  feeling,  but  continued  the  topic  of  a  return 
to  France." 

"  Well,  Dame,  T  will  do  for  Pierre  what  I  would  not  do 
for  myself.  I  shall  repurchase  the  old  Chateau,  and  use 
every  inlluence  at  my  command  to  prevail  on  the  king  to 
restore  to  Pierre  the  honors  of  his  ancestors.  Will  not  that 
be  a  glorious  end  to  the  career  of  the  bourgeois  Philibert!  " 

"  Ves,  master,  but  it  may  not  end  there  for  you  !  I  hear 
from  my  quiet  window  many  things  spoken  in  the  street 
below.  Men  love  you  so,  and  need  you  so,  that  they  will 
not  spare  any  supplication  to  bi<.l  you  stay  in  the  colony  !  and 
you  will  stay  and  die  where  you  have  lived  so  many  years, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  Golden  Dog  !  Some  men  hate 
you,  too,  because  you  love  justice  and  stand  up  for  the 
right.    I  have  a  request  to  make,  dear  master." 

"What  is  that,  Dame.-*"  asked  he  kindly,  prepared  to 
grant  any  request  of  hers. 

"  Do  not  go  to  the  market  to-morrow  I  "  replied  she, 
earnestly. 

The  liourgeois  glanced  sharply  at  the  Dame,  who  con- 
tinued to  ply  her  needles.  Her  eyes  were  half  closed  in  a 
semi-trance,  their  lids  trembling  with  nervous  excitement. 
One  of  her  moods  rare  of  late  was  upon  her,  and  she  con- 
tinued— 

"  O  !  my  dear  master,  you  will  never  go  to  France  ; 
but  Pierre  shall  inherit  the  honors  of  the  house  of  Phili- 
bert !" 

The  Bourgeois,  looked  up  contentedly.  He  respected 
without  |:)utting  entire  faith  in  Dame  Rochelle's  insj^irations  : 
"I  shall  be  resigned,"  he  said,  "not  to  see  France  again, 
if  the  king's  majesty  makes  it  a  condition,  that  he  restore 
to  Pierre  the  dignity,  while  I  give  him  back  the  domain,  of 
his  fathers," 

Dame  Rochelle  clasped  her  hands  hard  together  and 
sighed.  She  spake  not,  but  her  lips  moved  in  prayer  as  if 
deprecating  some  danger,  or  combatting  some  presentiment 
of  evil. 

The  Bourgeois  watched  her  narrowly.     Her  moods  of 


IK*    ' 


THE  BOURGEOIS  PHlLinERT. 


567 


Phili- 


devnut  contemplation  sometimes  perplexed  hiscleir  worldly 
wisdom.  Hi;  could  scarcely  heliexe  (h;il  her  iiituitionswere 
other  tU.in  the  ikuihmI  result  of  ;i  woiuleifuliy  sensitive  and 
apprehensive  nature  ;  still  in  his  experience  he  had  found 
that  her  fancies,  if  not  supernatural,  were  not  unworthy  of 
re<j;aril  as  the  sublimation  of  reas(jn  by  intellectual  processes 
of  which  the  possessor  was  unconscious. 

"You  aj^ain  see  trouble  in  store  forme,  Dame !  "  saiil 
he  smilin;if,  "  but  a  merchant  of  New  Franc  settinj^  at 
defiance  the  decrees  of  the  Royal  Intendant,  an  exile 
seeking  frcjni  the  Vwv^  the  rest(»rati(m  of  the  lordship  of 
Philibert,  may  well  have  trouble  ou  his  hands." 

"  Yes,  master,  but  as  yet  1  only  see  trouble  like  a 
misty  cloud  which  as  yet  has  neither  form  nor  color  of 
its  own,  but  only  reHects  red  rays  as  of  a  setlini;  sun.  No 
v.oice  from  its  midst  tells  me  its  njeaniu^',  I  thank  God  for 
that  ]  I  like  not  to  anticipate  evil  that  may  not  be 
averted  !  " 

"  Wht)m  does  it  touch  ?  Pierre  or  Amelie,  me,  or  all  of 
us?  "  asked  the  ]>our<i;eois. 

"All  of  us,  master?  How  could  any  misfortune  do 
othei-  than  concern  us  all?  What  it  means  I  know  not.  ft  is 
now  like  the  wheel  seen  by  the  Prophet,  full  of  eyes  within 
and  without,  like  God's  prijvidence  looking  for  his  elect." 

"  And  tintlinj;  theiii  ?  '' 

"  Not  yet  Master,  but  ere  long  !  finding  all  ere  long!  " 
replied  she  in  a  dreamy  manner.  ''  l>utgo  not  to  the  market 
to-morrow  !  " 

"These  are  strange  fancies  of  yours,  Danvj  Rochelle  ! 
Why  caution  me  against  the  market  to-morrow?  It  is  the 
day  of  St.  Martin,  the  poor  will  expect  me  !  if  I  go  not, 
many  will  return  empty  away." 

"  They  are  not  wholly  fancies.  Master:  Two  gentlemen 
ot  the  Palace  passed  to-day  and  looking  up  at  the  tablet, 
one  wagered  the  other  on  the  battle  tomorrow  between 
Cerberus  and  the  Golden  Dog.  I  have  not  forgotten 
wholly  my  early  lessons  in  classical  lore,"  added  the  l)ame. 

'•  Nor  I,  Dame ,  I  com|)rehend  the  allusion  !  but  it 
will  not  keep  me  from  the  Market!  I  will  be  watchful 
however  for  I  know  that  the  malice  of  my  enemies  is  at 
this  time  greater  than  ever  before." 

"  Let  Pierre  go  with  you  and  you  will  be  safe  i  "  said  the 
Dame,  half  imploringly. 


m-\ 


t    '■' 


I     '■■ 


268  77/^  CHIEN  D'OR. 

The  Bour<jeois  lauglied  at  the  sugf^estion  and  began 
good  huiiiorcdly  to  rally  her  oii  her  curious  gift  and  on 
the  inconvenience  of  having  a  prophetess  in  his  house 
to  anticipate  the  evil  day. 

"  Philip  the  Evangelist,"  said  she,  "had  four  daughters 
in  his  house,  vngins  wlio  did  prophecy,  and  it  is  not  said  he 
complained  of  it,  master  1"  replied  tlie  Dame  with  a  slight 
smile. 

"  But  Philip  had  evangelical  grace  to  supixirt  liim  under 
it.  Dame  !  "  said  the  Bourgeois  smiling.  "  i  think  with  the 
preacher,  it  is  best  not  to  be  wise  overmuch.  1  would  not 
look  too  far  before  or  jfter." 

Dame  Rochelle  would  not  say  more.  She  knew  that  to 
express  her  fears  more  disti;.'Clly  would  only  harden  the 
resolution  of  the  P>ourgeois.  His  natural  courage  would 
make  him  court  the  special  danger  he  ought  to  avoid. 

"Master!"  said  she,  suddenly  casting  her  eyes  in  the 
street,  "  there  rides  past  one  of  thegentleirien  who  wagered 
on  the  battle  between  (,'erlx'rus  and  the  (Jolden  Dog." 

The  Bourireois  had  sufhci'.Mit  curiositv  to  look  out.  He 
recognized  the  Chevalier  De  Pean,  and  tranquilly  resumed 
his  seat  with  the  remark,  that  "  that  was  truly  one  of  the 
heads  of  Cerl>erus  which  guards  the  Friponne,  a  fellow  who 
wore  the  collar  of  the  Int.'ndant  and  was  worthy  of  it !  the 
Golden  Do</  had  nothing  to  fear  from  him!  " 

Dame  Rochelle,  full  of  her  own  thoughts,  followed  with 
her  eyes  the  retreating  tigure  of  the  Chevalier  De  Pean, 
whom  she  lost  sight  of  at  the  first  turn,  as  he  rode  rapidly 
to  the  lu)use  of  Angelique  dcs  Meloises.  Since  the  fatal  eve 
of  St.  Miciiael,  Angelique  had  been  tossing  in  a  sea  of  conflic- 
ting emotions,  sometimes  brightened  by  a  wild  hope  of  the 
Inlendant,  somelimcs  darkened  with  fear  of  the  discovery  of 
her  deahngs  with  La  C'orriveau. 

It  was  in  vain  she  trieil  every  artifice  of  female  blan- 
dishment and  cunning  to  discover  what  was  really  in  the 
heart  and  mind  of  Bigot.  S.'.e  had  sounded  his  soul  to 
try  if  he  entertained  a  suspicion  of  herself,  but  its  depth  was 
beyond  her  [K)wer  to  reach  its  bottomless  darkness,  and  to 
the  last  she  could  not  resolve  whether  he  sus^x^cted  her  or 
not,  of  complicity  with  the  death  of  the  unfortunate 
Caroline. 

She  never  ceased  to  curse  La  Corriveau  for  that  felon 
stroke  of  her  mad  stiletto  which  changed  what  might  have 


THE  bourgeois:  phi  LIBERT. 


569 


passed  for  a  simple  death  by  heartbreak,  into  a  foul  assas- 
sinaiion. 

The  Intendant  she  knew  must  be  well  aware  that 
Caroline  had  been  murdered  ;  but  he  had  never  named  it,  or 
given  the  least  toktn  of  consciousness  that  such  a  crime 
had  been  conmiitted  in  his  house. 

It  was  in  vain  that  she  repented  with  a  steadiness  of 
face  which  sometimes  imposed  even  on  Uii^ot,  her  rec(uest 
for  a  Lett  re  de  Cachet,  or  urj^ed  the  banislniient  of  her  rival, 
until  the  Intendaiit  one  day,  with  a  look  which  for  a 
moment  annihilated  her,  told  her  that  lier  riviii  :">ad  j^cme 
from  i»eaumanoir  and  would  never  trouble  her  any  more  ! 

What  did  he  mean  ?  An<;elique  had  noted  every  chanj^e 
of  muscle,  every  curve  of  lip  and  eyelash  as  he  spake, 
and  she  felt  more  puzzled  than  before. 

I^'^"  re])lied  however  with  the  assurance  she  could  so  well 
assume,  "  Tlianks,  Bigot!  I  did  not  speak  from  jealousy.  I 
only  asked  for  justice,  and  th'.^  fultilment  of  your  promise 
to  send  her  av;ay." 

''But  I  did  not  send  her  away!  She  has  gone  away  I 
know  not  whither!  Gone!  do  you  mind  me,  Angelicjue  ! 
I  would  give  half  my  possessions  to  know  who  helped 
her  to  escape — yes  !  that  is    the  word,  from  Heaumanoir. 

Angel icpie  had  exp''  eted  a  burst  of  passion  from  Bigot, 
she  had  prepared  herself  for  it  l)y  diligent  rehearsal  of  how 
she  would  demean  herself  under  every  possible  form  of 
charge  from  bare  innuendo  to  direct  impeachment  of 
herself. 

Keenly  as  Bigot  watched  Angeiique,  he  could  detect  no 
sijrn  of  confusion  in  her.  She  trend)led  in  her  heart,  but 
her  lips  wore  their  old  practised  smile.  Her  eyes  opened 
widely,  looking  surprise,  not  guilt,  as  she  shook  him  by 
the  sleeve  or  coquettishly  pulletl  his  hair,  asking  if  he 
thought  that  "  she  had  stolen  away  his  lad\-  love  !  " 

Bigot  though  only  half  deceived,  tried  to  persuade 
himself  of  her  innocence,  and  left  her  after  ?n  hour's 
dalliance  with  the  halt  belief  th.. ^  she  did  not  really  merit 
the  grave  suspicions  he  had  entertained  of  her, 

Angeiique  feared  however  that  he  w.is  only  acting 
a  part.  What  part?  It  was  still  a  myste'  y  to  her  and 
likely  to  be  ;  she  had  but  one  criterion  to  disco\  er  his 
real  thoughts.  The  otYer  of  his  hand  in  marriage  was 
the   only   test  she   relied  upon   to  prove  her  acquittal  iu 


S70 


THE  CUIEN  D'OR. 


the  mind  of  Bigot,  of  all  complicity  with  the  death  of 
Caroline. 

But  ]]ij;ot  was  far  from  making  the  desired  offer  of  his 
hand.  That  terrible  nigiit  in  the  secret  chamber  of  Beau- 
manoir  was  not  absent  from  his  mind  an  hour.  It  could 
never  be  forgotten,  least  of  all  in  the  company  of  Angelique, 
whom  he  was  judging  incessantly ;  either  convicting 
or  acquitting  her  in  his  mind,  as  he  was  alternately 
impressed  by  her  well  acted  innocent  giycty,  or  stung 
by  a  sudden  perception  of  her  power  of  deceit  and  un- 
rivalled assurance. 

So  they  went  on  from  day  to  day,  fencing  like  two 
adepts  in  the  art  of  dissimulation.  Bigot  never  glancing  at 
the  murder,  and  speaking  of  Caroline  as  gone  away  to 
parts  unknown,  but  as  Ange'lique  observed  with  bitterness, 
never  making  that  a  reason  for  pressing  his  suit,  while  she, 
assumin":  the  role  of  innocence  and  io;norance  of  all  that 
had  happened  at  Beaumanoir,  put  on  an  appearance  of 
satisfaction,  or  j-jretending  still  to  tits  of  jealousy,  grew 
fonder  in  her  demeanour  and  acted  as  though  she  assumed, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  that  Bigot  would  now  fulfil  her  hopes 
of  speedily  making  her  his  bride. 

The  Intendant  had  come  and  fjone  everv  dav,  un- 
changed  in  his  manner,  full  of  spirits  and  gallantry,  and  as 
warm  in  his  admiration  as  before  ;  but  her  womanly 
instinct  told  her  there  was  something  hidden  under  that 
gay  exterior. 

It  was  in  vain  that  she  exerted  her  utmost  powers  of 
pleasing,  dressed  herself  to  his  voluptuous  tastes,  put  on  an 
appearance  of  gaiety  she  was  far  from  feeling,  sat  with  him, 
walked  with  him,  rode  with  h'm,  and  in  every  way  drew 
him  off  and  on  like  her  glove, 

Bigot  accepted  eve  y  challenge  of  flirtation,  and  ought 
to  have  declared  himself  twenty  times  over,  but  he  did  not. 
He  seemed  to  bring  himself  to  the  brink  of  an  avowal  only 
to  break  into  her  conlidence,  and  surprise  the  secret  she 
kept  so  des[)erately  concealed. 

Angelique  met  craft  by  craft,  duplicity  by  duplicity,  but 
it  began  to  be  clear  to  herself,  that  she  had  met  with  her 
match,  and  although  the  Intendant  grew  more  pressing  as  a 
lover,  she  had  daily  less  hope  of  winning  him  as  a  husband. 

The  thought  was  maddening.  Such  a  result  admitted  of 
a  twofold  meaning,  either  he  suspected  her  of  the  death  of 


THE  BOURGEOIS  PHIL/BERT. 


S7X 


stung 


grew 


Caroline,  or  her  charms  which  hid  never  failed  before 
with  any  man,  failed  now  to  entangle  the  one  man  she  had 
resolved  to  marry. 

Slie  cursed  him  in  her  heart,  while  she  flattered  him 
with  her  tongue,  but  by  no  art  she  was  mistress  of,  neither 
by  fondness  nor  by  coyness,  could  she  extract  the  declara- 
tion she  regarded  as  her  due,  and  was  indignant  at 
not  receiving.  She  had  fairly  earned  it  by  her  great  crime  ! 
She  had  still  more  fully  earned  it,  she  thought,  by  her 
condescensions.  She  regarded  Provide. tee  as  unjust  in 
withholding  her  reward,  and  for  punishing  as  a  sin  that 
which  for  her  sake  ought  to  be   considered  a  virtue. 

She  often  retiecied  with  regretful  looking  back  upon 
the  joy  which  Le  Gardeur  de  Re])cntigny  would  have 
manifested  over  the  least  of  the  favors  which  she  had 
lavished  in  vain  upon  the  inscrutable  Intendant.  At 
such  moments  she  cursed  her  evil  star,  which  had  led 
her  astray  to  listen  to  the  promptings  of  ambition,  and  to 
ask  fatal  counsel  of  La  Corriveau. 

Le  Gardeur  was  now  in  the  swif'  downward  road 
of  destruction.  This  was  the  one  thing  that  caused 
AngeHque  a  human  pang.  Siie  might  yet  fail  in  all  her 
ambitious  prospects,  and  have  to  fall  back  upon  her 
first  love — when  even  that  would  be  too  late  to  save 
Le  Gardeur  or  to  save  her ! 

De  Pean  rode  fast  up  the  Rue  St.  Louis,  not  unobserv- 
ant of  the  dark  looks  of  the  Honnctcs  Gens  or  the  familiar 
nods  and  knowing  smiles  of  the  partizans  of  the  Friponne 
whom  he  met  on  the  way. 

Before  the  door  of  the  mansion  of  the  Chevalier 
"Hes  Meloises  he  saw  a  valet  of  the  Intendant  holding  his 
master's  horse,  and  at  the  broad  window,  half  hid  behind 
the  thick  curtains,  sat  Bigot  and  Angelique  engaged  in 
badinage  and  mutual  deceiving,  as  De  Pean  well  knew. 

Her  silvery  laugh  struck  hi^.  ear  as  he  drew  up.  He 
cursed  them  both,  but  fear  of  the  Intendant,  and  a  due 
regard  to  his  own  interests,  two  feelings  never  absent  from 
the  Chevalier  De  Pean,  caused  him  to  ride  on,  not  stopping 
as  he  had  intended. 

He  would  ride  to  the  end  of  the  granil  Allee  and  return. 
By  that  lime  the  Intendant  would  be  gone,  and  she  would 
be  at  'iberty  to  receive  his  invitation  for  a  ride  to-morrow, 
when  they  would  visit  the  Cathedral  and  the  market. 


m 


572 


THE  CIIIEN^  D'OR. 


|fi  |v 


•■ 


Do  Pcnn  knew  enous^h  of  the  ways  of  Angdiique  to  see 
that  she  aimed  at  the  hand  of  the  Intendant.  She  had 
sli;;iUt.-d  ?.\m\  vilijiended  himself  even,  wiiile  accepting  his 
gifts  and  galhmtries.  IJut  with  a  true  appreciation  of  her 
character,  he  had  faith  in  the  uUimate  power  of  money, 
which  represented  to  her,  as  to  most  women,  position, 
dress,  jewels,  stately  houses,  carriages,  and  above  all,  the 
envy  and  jealousy  of  her  own  sex. 

These  things  I)e  Pean  had  wagered  on  the  head  of 
Angelique  against  the  wild  love  of  Le  Gardeur,  the  empty 
admiration  of  Bigot,  and  the  flatteries  of  the  troop  of 
idle  gentlemen  who  dawdled  around  her. 

He  felt  confident  that  in  the  end  victory  would  be  his, 
and  the  fair  Angelique  would  one  day  lay  her  hand  in  his 
as  the  wife  of  Huiriies  cU;  Pean  ! 

l)e  Pean  knew  that  in  her  heart  she  had  no  love  for  the 
Intendant,  and  the  Intendant  no  respect  for  her.  Moreover, 
Bigot  would  not  venture  to  marry  the  Queen  of  Sheba 
without  the  sanction  of  his  jealous  patroness  at  Court. 
He  might  possess  a  hundred  mistresses  if  he  liked,  and  be 
congratulated  on  his  bonnes  fortunes,  but  not  one  wife, 
under  the  penalty  of  losing  the  favor  of  La  l^ompadour, 
who  had  chosen  a  future  wife  for  him  out  of  Uie  crowd  of 
intriguantes  who  fluttered  round  her,  basking  like  butter- 
flies in  the  sunshine  of  her  semi-regal  splendor. 

Pigot  had  passed  a  wild  night  at  the  palace  among  the 
partners  of  the  Grand  Company,  who  had  met  to  curse  the 
peace  and  drink  a  speedy  renewal  of  the  war!  Before  sit- 
ting down  to  their  debauch,  however,  they  had  discussed 
with  more  regarfl  to  their  jjeculiar  interests  than  to  the 
principles  of  the  Decalogue,  the  condition  and  prospects  of 
the  Company. 

The  prospect  was  so  little  encouraging  to  the  associates 
that  they  were  glad  when  the  Intendant  bade  them  cheer 
up,  and  rememl)er  that  all  was  not  lost  that  was  in  danger. 
*'  Philil)ert  would  yet  undergo  the  fate  of  Acta;on  and  be 
torn  in  pieces  by  his  own  dog,"  Bigot  as  he  said  this, 
glanced  from  Le  Gardeur  to  De  Pean,  with  a  look  and 
a  smile  which  caused  Cadet,  who  knew  its  meaning,  to 
shrug  his  shoulders  and  inquire  of  De  Pean  privately, 
"Is  the  trap  set?" 

"It  is  set !  "  replied  De  Pean  in  a  whisper.  "  It  will 
Spring  to-morrow  and  catch  our  game,  I  hope." 


I  que  to  see 
She  had 
ccjjting  his 
:ion  of  her 
of  money, 
1,  position, 
:)ve  all,  the 

le  head  of 

the  empty 

e  troop  of 

ukl  be  his, 
land  in  his 

ove  for  the 
Moreover, 
of    Sheba 

at  Court. 

sd,  and  be 

one   wife, 

^mpadour, 

crowd  of 
ke  butter- 

imong  the 
curse  the 

iefore  sit- 
liscussed 
n  to  the 

aspects  of 

ssociates 
ci;i  cheer 
n  danger, 
1  and  be 
lid  this, 
ook  and 
mino^,  to 
Drivately, 

"  It  will 


A  DRA  \VN  GAME. 


573 


"You  must  have  a  crowd  and  a  row,  mind!  this  thing, 
to  be  safe,  must  be  done  openly,"  whispered  Cadet  in 
reply. 

"We  will  have  both  a  crowd  and  a  row,  never  fear! 
The  new  preacher  of  the  Jesuits,  who  is  fresh  from  Italy, 
and  knows  nothing  about  our  plot,  is  to  inveigii  in  the 
market  against  the  Jansenists  and  the  HoiuwL's  Gjhs. 
If  that  does  not  make  both  a  crowd  and  a  row,  I  do 
not  know  what  will." 

"  You  are  a  deep  devil,  De  Pean  !  So  deep  that 
I  doubt  you  will  cheat  yourself  yet,"  answered  Cadet 
gruffly. 

'*  Never,  fear,  Cadet !  To-morrow  night  shall  see  the 
palace  gay  with  illumination,  and  the  Golden  Dog  in 
darkness   and  despair." 


CHAPTER  LI. 


A     DRAWN     GAME. 


LE  GARDEUR  was  too  drunk  to  catch  the  full  drift 
of  the  Intendant's  reference  to  the  Bourgeois  under 
the  metaphor  of  Actaion  torn  in  pieces  by  his  own  dog. 
He  only  comprehended  enough  to  know  that  som;^- 
thing  was  intended  to  the  disparagement  of  the  Philiherts, 
and  firing  up  at  the  idea,  swore  loudly  that  *'  neither 
the  Intendant  nor  all  the  Grand  Company  in  mass  should 
harm  a  hair  of  the  Bourgeois'  head  !  " 

"It  is  the  dog!"  exclaimed  De  Pean,  "which  the 
company  will  hang — ^not  his  master — -nor  your  friend 
his  son,  nor  your  friend's  friend  the  old  Huguenot  witch  I 
We  will  let  them  hang  themselves  when  their  time  comes; 
but  it  is  the  Golden  Dog  we  mean  to  hang  at  present,  Le 
Gardeur !  " 

"  Yes  !  I  see  !  "  replied  Le  Gardeur,  looking  very  hazy, 
*'  Hang  the  golden  dog  as  much  as  you  will,  but  as  to  the 
man  that  touches  his  master,  I  say  he  will  have  to  tight  /«<?, 
that  is  all."  Le  Gardeur  after  one  or  two  vain  attempts, 
succeeded  in  drawing  his  sword  and  laid  it  upon  the  table. 


4-is  . 


\% 


\-      t 


574 


THE  CFIIEN  D'OR. 


m 


"  Do  you  see  that,  De  Pean  ?  That  is  the  sword  of 
a  gentleman,  and  I  will  riui  it  through  the  heart  of  any 
man  who  says  he  will  hurt  a  hair  of  the  head  of  Pierre 
Philibert,  or  the  Jiourgeois,  or  even  the  old  Huguenot  witch 
as  you  call  Dame  Rochelle  who  is  a  lady,  and  too  good  to 
be  either  your  mother,  aunt,  or  cater  cousin,  in  any  way, 
De  Pean  !  " 

"  By  St.  Picot  !  You  have  mistaken  your  man,  De 
Pean  !  "  whispered  Cadet.  "  Why  the  deuce  did  you  pitch 
upon  Le  Gardeur  to  carry  out  your  bright  idea .''  " 

"  I  pitched  upon  him  because  he  is  the  best  man  for  our 
turn.  But  I  am  right !  You  will  see  I  am  right !  Le  Gardeur 
is  the  pink  of  morality  when  he  is  sober.  He  would 
kill  the  devil  when  he  is  half  drunk,  but  when  whollv  drunk 
he  would  storm  paradise,  ard  sack  and  slay  like  a  German 
Ritter.  He  would  kill  his  own  grandfather  !  1  have 
not  erred  in  choosing  him  !  " 

Bigot  watched  this  by  play  with  intense  interest.  He 
saw  that  Le  Gardeur  was  a  two-edged  weapon  just 
as  likely  to  cut  his  friends  as  his  enemies,  unless  skil- 
fully held  in  hand,  and  blinded  as  to  when  and  whom 
he  should  strike. 

"  Come,  Le  Gardeur  !  put  up  your  sword  !  "  exclaimed 
Bigot,  coaxingly,  "we  have  better  game  to  bring  down 
tonight  than  the  Golden  Dog.  Hark!  they  are  coining! 
Open  wide  the  doors  and  let  the  blessed  peacemakers 
enter!  " 

"  The  peacemakers  !  "  ejaculated  Cadet,  "  the  cause  of 
every  quarrel  among  men  since  the  creation  of  the  world ! 
What  made  you  send  for  the  women,  Bigot  ?  " 

"  O  !  not  to  say  their  prayers  you  may  be  sure,  old 
Misogynist,  but  this  being  a  gala  night  at  the  Palace,  the 
girls  and  fiddlers  were  ordered  up  by  De  Pean,  and  we  will 
see  you  dance  fandangoes  with  them  until  morning, 
Cadet. 

*'  No  you  wont !  Damn  the  women  !  I  wish  you  had 
kept  them  away,  that  is  all.      It  spoils  my  fun,  Bigot!  " 

"  But  it  helps  the  company's  !  here  they  ccme  !  " 

Their  appearance  at  the  door  caused  a  hubbub  of 
excitement  among  the  gentlemen  who  hurried  forward  to 
salute  a  dozen  or  more  of  women  dressed  in  the  extreme 
of  fashion,  who  came  forward  with  plentiful  lack  of 
modesty,  and  a  superabundance  of  gaiety  and  laughter. 


A  DRA IVN  GAME. 


575 


Le  Garcleiir  and  Cadet  did  not'  rise  like  the  rest,  but 
kept  their  scats.  Cadcl  s\v.)re  that  Di-  Pcan  had  spoiled 
a  jolly  evening  by  inviting  the  wonjcn  lo  the  palace. 

These  women  had  been  invited  by  De  Pean  to  give  zest 
to  the  wild  orgie  that  was  intended  to  prepare  Le  (rarduur 
for  their  i)l()t  of  to-morrow,  which  was  to  compass  the  tall  of 
the  Jjourgeois.  'I'hey  sal  down  with  the  gentlemen,  listen- 
ing with  peals  of  laughter  to  tlieir  coarse  jests,  and  tempt- 
ing them  to  wilder  follies.  Tiiey  drank,  they  sang,  tluy 
danced  and  conductetl,  or  misconducted  themselves  in 
such  thorough  shameless  fashion  that  l>igot,  V'aiin,  and 
other  experts  of  the  court  swore  that  the/t///j"  apparlenLUS 
of  Versailles,  or  even  the  royal  fetes  of  the  Pare  aiix  cerfs, 
could  n(H  surpass  the  high  life  and  jollity  of  the  Palace  of 
the  Intendanl. 

In  that  wikl  fashion  Bigot  had  passed  the  night  previous 
to  his  prjsent  visit  to  Angeli(|ue.  'I'he  Chevalier  De  Pean 
rode  the  length  of  the  Grand  Alice  and  returned.  The 
valet  and  horse  of  the  Intendant  were  still  waiting  at  the 
door,  and  De  Pean  saw  Pigot  and  Angelicpie  still  seated 
at  the  window  engaged  in  a  livelv  conversation,  and 
not  apparently  noticing  his  presence  in  the  street  as  he  sat 
pulling  hairs  out  of  the  mane  of  his  horse,  "  with  the  air  of 
a  man  in  love,"  as  Angelique  laughingly  remarked  to  Higot. 

Pier  quick  eye,  which  nothing  could  escape,  had  seen  De 
Pean  the  tirst  lime  he  passed  the  house.  She  knew  that 
he  had  come  to  visit  her,  and  seeing  the  horse  of  the 
Intendant  at  the  door  he  had  forborne  to  enter — that 
would  not  have  been  the  way  with  Le  Gardeur — she 
thoujiht.  He  would  have  entered  all  the  readier  had  even 
the  Dauphin  held  her  in  conversation. 

Angelique  was  woman  enough  to  like  best  the  bold 
gallant  w  ho  carries  the  female  heart  by  storm,  and  puts  the 
parleying  garrison  of  denial  to  the  sword,  as  the  Sabine 
women  admired  the  spirit  of  their  Roman  captors  and 
became  the  most  faithful  of  wives. 

De  Pean,  clever  and  unprincipled,  was  a  menial  in 
his  soul,  as  cringing  to  his  superiors  as  he  was  arrogant  to 
those  below  him. 

"  Fellow  !  "  said  he  to  Bigot's  groom,  "  How  long  has 
the  Intendant  been  here  .''  " 

"  All  the  afternoon.  Chevalier,"  replied  the  man, 
respectfully  uncovering  his  head. 


576 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


"  Hum  I  and  have  they  sat  at  the  window  all  the  time  ?  " 

"1  hive  no  eyes  to  watch  my  master!"  replied  the 
groom,  "  I  do  not  i<now." 

**  Oh ! "  was  the  reply  of  De  Pean  as  he  suddenly 
reflected  that  it  were  best  for  himself  also  not  to  be  seen 
watching  his  master  too  closely.  He  uttered  a  spurt 
of  ill  humor,  and  continued  pulling  the  mane  of  his  horse 
through  his  lingers. 

"The  Chevalier  De  Pean  is  practising  patience  to- 
day, Bigot,"  said  she,  *'  and  you  give  him  enough  time  to 
exercise  it." 

*'  You  wish  me  gone,  Angc'lique  !  "  said  he,  rising,  "the 
Chevalier  De  Pean  is  naturally  waxing  impatient,  and  you 
too  }  " 

"  Pshaw  !  "  exclaimed  she,  "  he  shall  wait  as  long  as  I 
please  to  keep  him  there." 

"  Or  as  long  as  I  stay  !  He  is  an  accommodating  lover, 
and  will  make  an  equally  accommodating  husband  for 
his  wife's  friend,  some  day  1  "  remarked  liigot,  laughingly. 

Angelique's  eye  flashed  out  fire,  but  she  little  knew  how 
true  a  word  Bigot  had  spoken  in  jest.  She  could  have 
choked  him  for  mentioning  her  in  connection  with  De 
Pean,  but  remembering  she  was  now  at  his  mercy,  it  was 
necessary  to  cheat  and  cozen  this  man  by  trying  to  please 
him. 

"  Well,  if  you  must  go,  you  must,  Chevalier  !  Let  me 
tie  that  string!"  continued  she,  approaching  him  in  her 
easy  manner.  The  knot  of  his  cravat  was  loose.  Bigot 
glanced  admiringly  at  her  slightly  flushed  cheek  and 
dainty  fingers  as  she  tied  the  loose  ends  of  his  rich  stein- 
kirk  together. 

" 'Tis  like  love  !  "  said  she,  laughingly,  "a  slip-knot 
that  looks  tied  until  it  is  tried." 

She  glanced  at  Bigot  expecting  him  to  thank  her,  which 
he  did  with  a  simple  word.  The  thought  of  Caroline 
flashed  over  his  mind  like  lightning  at  that  moment.  She 
too  as  they  walked  on  the  shore  of  the  Bay  of  Minas  had 
once  tied  the  string  of  his  cravat,  when  for  the  first  time 
he  read  in  her  flushed  cheek  and  trembling  fingers 
that  she  loved  him.  Bigot,  hardy  as  he  was  and  reckless, 
refrained  from  touching  the  hand  or  even  looking  at 
Angelique  at  this  moment. 

With  the  quick  perception  of  her  sex  she  felt  it,  and 


A  DRAWN  GAME. 


577 


at 


drew  back  a  step,  not  kiiowino;  but  the  next  moment 
mi<;ht  overwhelm  her  with  an  accusation  !  iJut  Hij;ol  was 
not  sure,  and  he  dared  not  hint  to  Anj^tMiqiie  niorc  than  lie 
had  done. 

"  Thanks  for  tyini;  the  knot,  An^jriique,"  said  he  at 
len<;th,  "  It  is  a  hard  knot  mine,  is  it  not,  both  to  tie  and  to 
untie  ? " 

She  looked  at  him,  not  pretending;  to  un<lers!and 
any  meaning  he  might  attach  to  his  words.  "  Ves,  it  is 
a  hard  knot  to  tie,  yours,  IJigot,  and  you  do  not  seem 
particularly  to  thank  me  for  my  service.  Have  you  dis- 
covered the  hidden  place  of  your  fair  fugitive  yet  }  "  She 
said  this  just  as  he  turned  to  depart.  It  was  the  feminine 
postscript  to  tlieir  interview. 

Bitot's  avoidance  of  anv  allusion  to  the  death  of  Caro- 
line  was  a  terrihle  mark  of  suspicion,  less  in  reality, 
however,  than  it  seemed. 

Bigot,  although  suspicious,  could  fmd  no  clue  to  tJie 
real  perpetrators  of  the  murder.  He  knew  it  IkuJ  not  i)ee'i 
Angelique  herself  in  person.  He  had  never  lu'.i.d  her  s'pc.ik 
of  La  Corriveau.  Not  the  smallest  ray  of  light  penetrated 
the  dark  mystery. 

"I  do  not  believe  she  has  left  Bjaummoir,  Bigot!  " 
continued  Angelique,  "or  if  she  has,  you  know  her  hiding 
place.  Will  you  swear  on  my  b^ok  of  hours  that  you 
know  not  where  she  is  to  be  found  .'  " 

He  looked  fixedly  at  Angelique  for  a  moment,  tr\ing 
to  read  her  thoughts,  but  she  had  rehearsed  her  part  too 
often  and  too  well  to  look  pale  or  confused.  She  felt  her 
eyebrow  twitch,  hut  she  pressed  it  with  her  fingers,  be- 
lieving Bigot  did  not  observe  it,  but  he  did. 

"1  will  swear  and  curse  both,  if  you  wish  it,  Angeli- 
que," replied  he.     "Which  shall  it  be'?" 

"  Well,  do  both — swear  at  me  and  curse  the  day  that 
I  banished  Le  (iardeur  de  Repent igny  for  your  sake, 
Francois  Bigot !  If  the  lady  be  gone,  where  is  your  pro- 
mise .^ " 

Bigot  burst  into  a  wild  laugh,  as  was  his  wont  when 
hard  pressed.  He  had  not,  to  be  sure,  made  any  definite 
promise  to  Angelique,  but  he  had  fiattered  her  with  hojjes 
of  marriage  never  intended  to  be  realized. 

"  I  keep  my  promises  to  ladies  as  if  I  had  sworn  by 
St.  Dorothy,"  replied  lu, 

37 


'5i 


^B  'i   ''''   i^l 

H:.;  .-t  ^H 

■HH 

I  :  ^ 


578 


T//£  ClflEiV  D'OK. 


"  But  your  promise  to  me,  IJigot !  Will  you  keep  it,  or 
do  worse  ?"  asked  she  impatiently. 

"  Keep  it  or  do  worse  !  What  mean  you,  Angelique  ?  " 
He  looked  up  in  genuine  surprise.  This  was  not  the 
usual  tone  of  women  towards  him, 

"1  mean  that  nothing;;  will  he  hetter  for  Francois  Bigot 
than  to  ketj)  ids  promise,  nor  worse  tl)an  to  break  it,  to 
Angelique  dcs  Meloises  !  "  replied  she  with  a  stump  of  her 
foot,  as  was  her  manner  when  excited. 

She  thought  it  safe  to  use  an  implied  threat,  which  at 
any  rate  might  reach  the  thought  that  lay  under  his  heart 
like  a  centipede  under  a  stone,  which  some  chance  foot 
turns  over. 

But  Bigot  minded  not  the  implied  threat.  He  was  im- 
moveable in  the  direction  she  wished  him  to  move.  He 
understood  her  allusion,  but  would  not  apjx.\ar  to  under- 
stand it,  lest  worse  than  shi  meant  should  conie  of  it. 

"  Forgive  me,  Angelitjue  !  "  said  he  with  a  sudden 
change  from  frigidity  to  fondness.  "  I  am  not  unmindful 
of  my  promises  ;  there  is  nothing  better  to  myself  than  to 
keep  them,  nothing  worse  than  to  break  them.  15eau- 
nianoir  is  now  without  reproach,  and  you  can  visit  it  with- 
out fear  of  aught  but  the  ghosts  in  the  gallery." 

Angi'lique  feared  no  ghosts,  but  she  did  fear  that  the 
Intendant's  words  implied  a  suggestion  of  one  which 
might  haunt  it  for  the  future,  if  there  were  any  truth  in  tales. 

"  How  can  you  warrant  that,  Bigot  ?  "  asked  she,  dubi- 
ously. 

"  Because  Pierre  Philibert  and  La  Corne  St.  Luc  have 
been  with  the  king's  warrant  and  searched  the  chateau 
from  crypt  to  attic,  without  finding  a  trace  of  your  rival." 

"  What,  Chevalier,  searched  the  Chateau  of  the  Inten- 
dant?" 

'■'Far  hh'ii !  yes,  I  insisted  upon  their  doing  so,  not, 
however,  till  they  had  gone  through  the  Castle  of  St. 
Louis.  They  apologized  to  me  for  fmding  nothing.  What 
did  they  expect  to  find,  think  you  ?" 

"  The  lady,  to  be  sure  !  O,  Bigot ! "  continued  she, 
tapping  him  with  her  fan,  "if  they  would  send  a  commis- 
sion of  women  to  search  for  her,  the  secret  could  not 
remain  hid." 

"  No,  truly,  Angelique  !  If  you  were  on  such  a  com- 
mission to  search  for  tlie  secret  of  her." 


A  DRA  \VN  GAME. 


579 


iKit  the 

which 

tales. 

clubi- 


com- 


Well,  Bij^ot,  I  vvould  never  betray  it,  if  I  knew  it," 
answered  siie,  promptly. 

"You  swear  to  that,  An;^eli(|ne  ? "  asked  he,  looking 
full  in  her  eyes,  which  did  not  flinch  under  his  '^x/c 

"  Yes  ;  on  my  book  of  hours,  as  you  did  !  "  said  she. 

*'  Well,  there  is  my  iiand  upon  it,  Anj^eiiq'ie.  I  have 
no  secret  to  tell  resi)cctin{^  her.  She  has  g(^ne,  I  cannot 
tell  iv/iii/ier."' 

Ange'.ique  gave  him  her  hand  on  the  lie.  She  knew 
he  was  playin;^  with  h-.T,  is  she  with  him,  p  game  of 
mutual  deception,  whicli  both  knew  to  be  such.  And  yet 
thev  must,  circumstanced  as  liiev  were,  plav  it  out  to  the 
end,  which  end,  she  hoped,  would  be  her  marriage  with 
this  arch-deceiver.  A  breach  of  their  alliance  was  as  danger- 
ous as  it  would  be  unprofit  d>le  to  both. 

Bigot  rose  to  dejjart  with  an  air  of  gay  regret  at  leav- 
ing the  company  of  Angelicjue,  to  make  room  for  De  I'ean, 
**  who,"  he  said,  "  woidd  ])ull  every  hair  out  of  his  horse's 
mane  if  he  waited  much  longer." 

"  Your  visit  is  no  pleasure  to  you,  Bigot,"  said  she, 
looking  hard  at  him.  "  You  are  discontented  with  me, 
and  would  rather  go  than  stay  !  " 

"Well,  Angelitpie,  I  am  a  dissatisfied  man  to-day. 
The  mysterious  disappearance  of  that  girl  from  Heau- 
manoir  is  tiie  cause  of  my  discontent.  The  detiant  boldness 
of  the  liourgeois  l'hilil)ert  is  another.  I  have  heard  to- 
day that  the  IJourgeois  has  chartered  every  ship  that  is  to 
sail  to  France  during  the  remainder  of  the  autunui.  These 
things  are  provoking  enough,  but  they  drive  me  for  conso- 
lation to  you.  l)Ut  for  you  I  should  shut  m\self  up  in 
Beaumanoir,  and  let  everything  go  helter-skelter  to  the 
devil." 

"  You  only  Matter  me  and  do  not  mean  it  !  "  said  she, 
as  he  took  her  hand  with  an  over-<y/i/>nyst7;h7it  as  perceptible 
to  her,  as  was  his  occasional  coldness. 

"By  all  the  saints!  I  mean  it,"  said  he.  But  he  did 
not  deceive  her.  His  professions  were  not  all  true,  but 
how  far  they  were  true  was  a  ciuestion  that  again  and 
again  tormented  her,  and  set  her  bosom  palpitating  as  he 
left  her  room  with  his  usual  courteous  salute. 

"  He  suspects  me !  He  more  than  suspects  me ! " 
said  she  to  herself  as  Bigot  passed  out  of  the  mansion, 
and  mounted  his  horse  to  ride  otf.     "  He  would  speak  out 


5' 


) 


i: 


¥ 


580 


r//^  crriF.N  D'OR. 


plainer  if  he  diircd  avow  that  that  woman  was  in  tru(l)  tlie 
inissiii};  (laroline  dc  St.  Castin  !  "  lli()ii«^l)t  she  with  savage 
bitterness. 

"  I  have  a  bit  in  your  mouth  there,  Franeois  Bit^or, 
that  will  f()re\er  hold  vou  in  check.  Thnt  missin;r  demoi- 
selle,  no  one  knows  as  you  do  where  she  is.  I  woidd  i^ive 
away  every  jewel  I  own  to  know  what  you  did  with  the  pret- 
ty piece  of  mortality  left  on  your  hands  by  La  C'orriveau." 
*Vl''oid  witch!"  continued  she,  "It  wiis  she  made  a 
murder  of  a  natural  death,  and  led  me  into  this  cursed 
coil!  But  for  that  poniard  stroke  the  Intendant  would 
have  been  mine  to-day.  I  could  wear  sackcloth  for  spite, 
when  I  rertect  on  it.  \  feel  to  the  verv  ends  of  mv  lln<rer- 
nails  that  Satan  has  put  this  crook  in  my  lot  to  thwart  my 
lej^itimate  hopes." 

Thus  soliloquized  Ani;jeli(iue  for  a  few  moments,  look- 
ing gloomy  and  beautiful  as  Medea,  when  tiie  step  of  I)e 
Pean  souikKmI  up  the  bi-oafl  stair. 

With  a  sudden  transformation,  as  if  touched  by  a  magic 
wand,  Angeiique  sprang  forward  all  smiles  and  fascinations 
to  greet  his  entrance. 

I'he  faculty  of  a  woman  to  read  a  man  is  said  to  be  a 
sixth  sense  of  the  sex.  If  so,  the  faculty  of  appi.'aring 
other  than  she  is,  and  of  preventing  a  man  from  reading 
her,  is  assuredly  a  seventh  sense.  Angeiique  possessed 
both  to  |K'rfection. 

All  women  have  that  faculty,  but  never  one  surpassed 
Angeliciue  in  tlie  art  of  transformation.  None  know  bet- 
ter than  she  how  to  suit  her  rare  powers  of  fascination  to 
the  particular  man  she  desired  to  please,  or  the  mood  she 
desired  to  take  advantage  of. 

The  ('hevalier  l)e  Pean  had  long  made  distant  and 
timid  pretensions  to  her  favor,  but  he  had  been  over-borne 
by  a  dozen  rivals.  He  was  incapable  of  love  in  any 
honest  sense  ;  but  he  had  inunense  vanity.  He  had  been 
barely  noticed  among  the  crowd  of  Angelique's  admirers. 
"  He  was  only  food  for  jjowder,"  she  had  laughingly  re- 
marked, upon  one  occasion  when  n  duel  on  her  account 
seemed  to  be  impending  between  De  Pean  and  the  young 
Captain  de  Tours  ;  and  beyond  doubt,  Angeiique  would 
have  been  far  prouder  of  him  shot  for  her  sake  in  a  duel 
than  she  was  of  his  living  attentions. 

She  regarded  him  as   a  lady  regards  her  pet  spaniel. 


iF        '     .  .  ll.llllll-LllHBr 
'St    -  .      .  ..    ..-■.»iii»ia«.i 


Mil 


a 


"  /x  corn  cr.Asrsr  etc.  ^gi 

He  was  most  useful  to  futcli  aiul  carry — to  stand  on  his 
hind  feet  and  tui  ii  the  whirli^ij;  of  her  fancy  when  she  had 
no  better  company. 

She  was  not  sorry,  however,  that  he  came  in  to  day 
aftiT  the  departure  of  the  Intcndant.  It  k('|)t  her  from 
her  own  thou<;hts,  which  were  bitter  enrju^^h  when  alone. 
Moi cover,  she  never  tired  of  anv  amount  of  homa":e  and 
acbiiiration.  come  from  what  (juarter  it  would. 

1  )e  lY'an  stayed  h)n_<;  with  Anj;eli(|ue.  How  far  he 
opened  the  details  of  the  plot  to  create  a  riot  in  the 
market  place  that  afternoon,  can  only  be  conjectured,  by 
the  fact  of  her  ajj;reeinjjj  to  ride  out  at  the  hour  desi;j;nated, 
which  she  warmly  consenteil  to  do,  as  soon  as  J)e  Pcan 
informed  her  tiiat  Le  Gardeur  would  be  there,  and  miijht 
be  expected  to  have  a  hand  in  the  tumult  raised  ajijainst 
the  (lolden  Dojjj.  The  conference  over,  An<;eli(|ue  speedily 
dismissed  De  Pean.  She  was  in  no  mood  for  flirtation 
with  him.  Her  mind  was  taken  up  witii  the  p(jssibility  of 
danger  to  Le  Gardeur  in  this  plot,  which  she  saw  clearly 
was  the  work  of  others,  and  not  of  himself,  although  he 
was  expected  to  be  a  chief  actor  in  it. 


CHAPTER     LH. 


"in  gold  clasps  locks  in  thk  golden  story." 


and 
lorne 
any 


IIFE  is  divided  into  triads  (^f  epochs, — youth,  manhood, 
-^  age  ;  birth,  marriage  and  death.  Kach  epoch  has  its 
own  inogress  from  morning  to  noon,  and  from  noon  to 
night,  as  if  our  moral  and  physical  states  retained  in  their 
changes  an  inuigc  and  reflection  of  the  great  never-ending 
ever  be<iinnin<r  rexoUuion  of  the  sun. 

The  father  rejoices  in  his  children.  They  will  live  upon 
the  earth  after  him,  and  in  their  eyes  he  will  still  see  the 
pleasant  light  of  day.  Man  turns  towards  the  woman 
whom  he  has  selected  from  among  the  many  possible 
women  whom  he  might  have  loved,  and  she  calls  herself 
for  a  while,  perhaps  for  ever,  blessed  among  women. 

Love  is  like  a  bright  river  ;  when  it  springs  from  tlie  fresh 


11 


582 


THE  CHIE.y  D'OR. 


Kl 


fountains  of  the  heart.  It  fl  )vvs  on  between  fair  and  ever- 
widening;  banks  uiilil  it  reaches  the  ocean  of  eternity  and 
happiness. 

The  davs,  iHuminated  with  the  bri::;htest  sunshine  are 
those  which  smile  over  the  heads  of  a  lovinj;  pair  who 
have  found  each  other,  and  witli  tender  confessions  and 
mutual  avov/als  plij^hted  their  troui  and  prepared  their  little 
bark  for  sailin":  toizether  down  the  chan;:;eful  stream  of  time. 

So  it  har'  been  throui^h  the  lonsx  Inrlian  summer  davs 
with  Pierre  Philibert  and  Amelie  de  Repentij;ny.  Since 
the  blessed  hour  they  pli<^hted  their  troth  in  the  evening 
twilight  upon  the  shore  of  the  little  lake  of  'I'illy,  they  had 
showed  to  each  other  in  the  iieart's  confessional,  the 
treasures  of  true  human  affection,  holy  in  the  eyes  of  God 
and  man. 

One  mind,  one  hope,  and  one  desire  possessed  them— 
to  be  all  in  all  to  one  another  ;  to  studv  each  other's 
inmost  character,  an  easy  task  when  instead  of  conceal- 
ment, each  loved  to  guide  the  other  to  a  perfect  under- 
standing. 

When  Amelie  gave  her  love  to  Pierre,  she  gave  it 
utterly  and  without  a  scruple  of  reservation.  It  was  so 
easy  to  love  Pierre,  so  impossible  not  to  love  him  ;  nay, 
she  remembered  not  the  time  it  was  otherwise,  or  when  he 
had  not  been  first  and  last  in  her  secret  thouirhts  as  he 
was  now  in  her  chaUe  confessions,  although  whispered  so 
low  that  her  approving  angel  hardly  caught  the  sound  as  it 
passed  into  the  ear  of  i^ierre  Philibert. 

Amelie's  devotion  was  like  that  of  holy  Sarah  of 
old.  The  image  of  Pierre  mingled  in  her  jjrayers,  inspir- 
ing them  with  a  fervor  deeper  than  she  dreamt  of.  She 
thanked  G')d  for  the  love  of  the  one  man  out  of  all  the 
world  who  had  won  her  virgin  heart,  one  wh;)m  she  acouid 
look  up  to  with  piide  for  his  manhood,  with  reverence  for 
his  greatness  of  soul  ;  and  in  return  for  his  love  counted 
the  devotion  of  her  wiiole  life  as  inadequate  to  repay  it. 

A  warm  soft  wind  blew  gently  down  the  little  valley  of 
the  Lairet  which  wound  and  rippled  over  its  brown  glossy 
pebbles,  nuuMuuring  a  q.i'et  song  down  in  its  hollow  bed. 
Tufts  of  spiry  grass  clung  to  its  steep  banks,  and  a  few 
wild  flowers  peeped  out  of  nooks  among  the  sere  fallen 
leaves  that  lay  upon  the  still  green  sward  on  each  shore  of 
the  little  rivulet. 


"  IN  GOLD  clasps;'  e  tc. 


583 


Pierre  and  Ame'lie  had  been  tempted  by  the  beauty  of 
the  Indian  summer  to  dismount  and  send  their  horses  for- 
ward to  the  city  in  cliarije  of  a  servant  while  they  walked 
home  by  way  of  the  licids  to  gather  the  hist  Howers  of 
Autumn  which  Amelie  saitl  linj^ered  longest  in  the  deep 
swales  of  the  Lai  ret. 

A  walk  in  the  golden  sunshine  with  Amelie  alone  amid 
the  quiet  fields,  free  to  speaK  his  love,  and  she  to  hear  him 
and  be  glad,  was  a  pleasure  I'ieire  had  dreamt  of  but  never 
enjoyed,  since  the  blessed  night  when  they  plighted  their 
troth  to  each  othjr  by  the  lake  of  Tilly. 

The  betrothal  of  Pierre  and  Amelie  had  been  accepted 
by  their  friends  on  both  sieves  as  a  most  titting  and  desir- 
able match,  but  the  manners  of  the  age  with  respect  to  the 
unmarried,  did  not  admit  of  that  freedom  in  society  which 
prevails  at  the  i^resent  day. 

They  had  seldom  met  save  in  the  presence  of  others, 
and  except  for  a  few  chance  but  olissful  moments,  Pierre 
had  not  been  favored  with  the  company  all  to  himself  of 
his  betrothed. 

Amelie  was  not  u  iinindful  of  that,  when  she  gave  a 
n'illing  consent  to-dav  to  walk  with  him  along  the  banks 
of  the  Lairet,  under  the  shady  elms,  birches  and  old  thorns 
that  over  hung  the  path  by  the  little  stream. 

She  felt  with  the  tender  compassion  of  a  woman  for 
the  man  she  loves,  that  he  had  longed  for  nu>re  of  her 
society  than  the  custom  of  the  time  permitted  him  to  enjoy, 
and  although  rigid  and  precise  in  her  ideas  of  duty,  Amelie 
could  not  persuade  herself  against  her  own  heart,  not  to 
grant  him  this  propitious  hour,  to  converse  with  ease  and 
freedom. 

The  happy  present  was  intoxicating  as  sweet  wine,  and 
the  still  more  happy  future  loomed  up  before  her  imag- 
ination like  a  fairy  land  where  she  was  to  dwell  for  ever. 
To  talk  of  it  to-day  was  a  foretaste  of  bliss  for  them  both 
not  to  be  denied  ;  so  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Pierre,  she 
sauntered  along  the  banks  of  the  Lairet  conversing  with 
innocent  animation,  and  that  entire  trust  which  their 
relationship  to  each  other  permitted. 

Pierre  was  now  her  betnjliied,  Amelie,  happy  and  con- 
fiding, regarded  her  lover  as  her  other  self.  She  loved 
him  too  well  to  affect  any  unreal  thought  or  feeling,  and 
when  his  eager  admiring  eyes  met  hers,  she  blushed,  but 


T 


584 


THE  CfllEN  lyOR. 


f 


would  not  refuse  to  let  him  perceive  that  he  was  loved 
with  the  tenderness  and  devotion  of  her  whole  being.  She 
felt  that  Pierre  loved  her  as  his  own  soul,  and  in  the  ful- 
ness of  her  gratitude,  resolved  that  as  her  past  life  had 
been  one  prayer  for  his  happiness,  so  her  future  should  be 
one  never  ceasing  effort  to  repay  his  love. 

"Pierre,"  said  she  smiling,  "our  horses  are  gone  and  I 
must  now  walk  home  with  you  right  or  wrong.  My  old 
mistress  in  the  Convent  would  shake  her  head  if  she  heard 
of  it,  but  1  care  not  who  blames  me  to-day,  if  you  do  not, 
Pierre  !  " 

"Who  can  blame  you,  darling?  what  you  do  is  ever 
wisest  and  best  in  my  eyes,  except  one  thing,  which  I 
will  confess  now  that  you  are  my  own,  I  cannot  account 
for—" 

"  I  had  hoped  Pierre,  there  was  no  exception  to  your 
admiration,  you  are  taking  off  my  angel's  wings  already, 
and  leaving  me  a  mere  woman  !  "  replied  she  merrily. 

"  It  is  a  woman  1  want  you  to  be,  darling,  a  woman 
not  faultless,  but  hiimaii  a.-^  myself,  a  wife  to  hold  to  me 
and  love  me  despite  my  faults,  not  an  angel  too  bright  and 
too  perfect  to  be  my  other  self." 

"  Dear  Pierre,"  said  she  pressing  his  arm,  "  I  will  be 
that  woman  to  you,  full  enough  of  faults  to  satisfy  you.  An 
angel  I  am  not  and  cannot  be,  nor  wish  to  be  until  we  go 
together  to  the  spirit  land.  I  am  so  glad  I  have  a  fault  for 
which  you  can  blame  me,  if  it  makes  you  love  me  better. 
Indeed  I  own  to  many,  but  what  is  that  one  fault,  Pierre, 
which  you  cannot  account  for?" 

"That  \ou  should  have  taken  a  rough  soldier  like  me, 
Amelie  !  tiiat  one  so  fair  and  perfect  in  all  the  graces  of 
womanhood  with  the  world  to  choose  from,  should  have 
permitted  Pierre  Philibert  to  win  her  loving  heart  of 
hearts." 

Amelie  looked  at  him  with  a  fond  expression  of  re- 
proach. "  Does  that  surprise  you,  Pierre?  you  rough  sol- 
dier, you  little  know,  and  I  will  not  tell  you,  the  way  to  a 
woman's  heart  ;  but  for  one  blindfoUle'd  by  so  much  diff- 
idence to  his  own  merits,  you  have  found  the  way  very 
easilv  !  Was  it  for  loving  you  that  you  blamed  me?  what 
if  I  should  recall  the  fault?  "  added  she,  laughing. 

Pierre  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  kissing  devotedly  the 
ring  he  had  placed  upon  her  finder.     '*  1  have  no  fear  of 


'IN  GOLD  clasps;'  ETC 


58s 


that,  Amclie  !  the  wonder  to  me  is  that  you  could  think  me 
worthy  of  the  priceless  trust  of  your  iiappiness." 

"And  the  wonder  to  me,"  replied  she,  "is  that  your 
dear  heart  ever  burdened  itself  with  my  iiappiness.  I  am 
weak  in  myself,  and  only  strong  in  my  resolution  to  he  all 
a  loving  wife  should  be  to  you,  my  Pierre  I  Von  wonder 
how  you  gained  my  love  ?  shall  I  tell  you  ?  you  never  gain- 
ed it,  it  was  always  yours  before  you  formed  a  thought  to 
win  it !  Vou  are  now  my  betrothed,  Pierre  I'hilibert,  soon 
to  be  my  husband  ;  1  would  not  exchange  my  fortune  to 
become  the  proudest  queen  that  ever  sat  on  the  throne  of 
France." 

Amelie  was  very  happy  to-day.  The  half  stolen  delight 
of  walking  by  the  side  of  Pierre  Philii)ert,  was  enhanced 
by  the  hope  that  the  fatal  spell  that  bound  Le  Gardeur  to 
the  palace,  had  been  broken,  and  he  would  yet  return  home, 
a  new  man. 

Le  Gardeur  had  only  yesterday,  in  a  moment  of  recol- 
lection of  himself,  and  of  his  sister,  adilressed  a  note  to 
Amelie,  asking  pardon  for  his  recent  neglect  of  home,  arid 
promising  to  come  and  see  them  on  St.  Mirtin's  day. 

He  had  heard  of  her  betrothal  to  Pierre.  "  It  was  the 
gladdest  news,"  he  said,  "  that  had  ever  come  to  him  in  his 
life.  He  sent  a  brother's  blessing  upon  them  both,  and 
claimed  the  privilege  of  giving  away  her  hand  to  the 
noblest  man  in  New  France,  Pierre   I'hilibert." 

AmcMie  showed  the  precious  note  to  I'ierre.  It  only 
needed  that  to  complete  their  h  ip[)iness  for  the  day.  The 
one  cloud  that  had  overshadowed  their  joy  in  their  ap- 
proaching nuptials  was  passing  away,  and  Amelie  was 
prouder  in  the  anticii^ation  that  Le  (rardeur,  restored  to 
himself,  sober,  and  in  his  right  mind,  was  to  be  [present  at 
her  wedding  and  give  her  away,  than  if  the  whole  court  of 
France  with  thousands  of  admiring  spectators  were  to  pay 
her  royal  honors. 

It  was  very  pleasant  under  the  brown  trees  and  bushes 
that  fringed  the  Jjtjle  brook.  The  gentle  wind  rustled  the 
fallen  leaves  that  strevve4  the  earth.  Scarcely  a  sound  else 
mingled  with  the  low  sweet  fones  of  love  and  confiilence 
which  fell  from  the  lips  of  Pierre  and  Amelie  as  they 
loitered  in  the  secluded  pathway. 

The  Suiumer  birds  had  nearly  ^11  gone.  The  few  that 
remained  in  the  bushes  no  longer  saug  as   in  the  genial 


li 


S8^^ 


T/Z/i  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


days  of  June,  but  cliirpecl  sad  notes  hopping  solitarily  here 
and  there,  as  if  they  knew  that  the  season  of  joy  was 
passin;;  away,  and  the  dark  days  of  wititer  were  at  hand. 

IJut  notiu'nij;  of  this  noted  l^ierre  and  Anielie,  wrapped 
in  the  entrancenient  of  each  ahers  pn-senee  they  only 
observed  nature  so  far  as  it  was  the  reflex  of  their  own 
hapjn'  feelinj^s.  Anielie  unconsciously  leaned,  as  she  had 
often  dreamed  of  doiujjj,  upon  the  arui  of  Pierre,  who  held 
her  hand  in  his,  gazin>r  on  her  half  averted  face,  catchinj^ 
niouientarv  •ilances  of  her  dark  eves  which  she  cast  dowu 
abashetl  under  the  fondness  which  she  felt  was  filling  them 
with  tears  of  joy. 

They  sauntered  on  towards  a  turn  of  the  stream  where 
a  little  |)ool  lay  embaved  like  a  smooth  mirror  reHecting 
the  grassy  bank.  Amelie  sat  dowu  under  a  tree  while 
Pierre  crossed  over  the  brook  to  gather  on  the  opposite 
side,  some  (lowers  whicii  had  caught  her  eye. 

"'IV'll  me  which.  Amelie  ! "  exclaimed  he,  "for  they 
are  all  yours  !  you  are  Mora's  heiress  with  right  to  enter 
int()  |)Ossession  of  her  whole  kingdom  !  " 

"  The  water   lilies,  Pierre,  those,  and  those,  and  those, 

they  are  to  deck  the  shrine  of  Notre  Dame  des  Victoires, 

Aunt  his  a  vow  there  and  to-morrow  it  must  be  jiaid,  \  too  !  " 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  eyes  of  admiration, "avow! 

let  ine  share  in  its  payment,  Amelie,"  said  he. 

Vou  may  !  but  you  shall  not  ask  me  what  it  is.  There 
now  !  do  not  wet  yourself  farther!  you  have  gathered 
more  lilies  than  we  can  carry  home." 

"Hut  i  have  my  own  thank  offering  to  make  to  Notre 
Dame  des  Victoires,  for  I  think  I  love  God  even  better  for 
your  sake,  Amelie." 

"  Fie  Pierre,  say  not  that  !  and  yet  T  know  what  you 
mean  !  1  ought  to  reprove  you,  but  for  your  penance  you 
shall  gather  more  lilies  ;  for  I  fear  you  need  many  prayers 
and  olTerings  to  expiate," — she  hesitated  to  finish  the 
sentence. — 

'*  My  idolatry,  Amelie,"  said  he,  completing  her  mean- 


ing. 


"  I  doubt  it  is  little  better,  J^ierre,  if  you  love  ine  as 
you  say.  Hut  you  shall  join  in  my  otlering  and  that  will  do 
for  both.  Please  pull  that  one  bunch  of  lilies  and  no  more, 
or  our  Lady  of  \'ictorv  wiU  judge  you  harder  than  I  do  !  " 

Pierre  sleppeil  from  stone  to  stone  over  the  gentle  brook 


sosam 


''IN  GOLD  clasps;'  ETC. 


587 


}OU 

vers 
the 


gatherinj^  the  <Toklen  lilies,  while  Aniclic  elasperl  her  hands 
and  silently  thanked  (lod  for  this  hap|:)y  hour  of  her  life. 

She  hardly  dared  trust  heiself  to  look  at  Pierre  except 
by  furtive  <;lances  of  pridi'  and  affection  ;  hut  as  his  form 
and  features  were  retlec>ed  in  a  shadow  of  manly  beauty 
in  the  still  pool,  she  withdrew  not  her  lovinj;  ^aze  from  his 
shadow,  and  leaning  forward  towards  his  image, 

"A  thousand  times  she  kissed  liiin  in  tlic  l)io()k, 
Across  the  llowtrs  with  bashlul  eyelids  down  !  " 

Amelie  had  royally  given  her  love  to  Pierre  Philibert. 
She  had  given  it  without  stint  or  measure  and  with  a  depth 
and  strength  of  devotion  of  which  more  facile  natures 
know  nothing. 

Amelie  was  incapable  of  trilling  with  the  send)lance  of 
love.  She  was  a  stranger  to  the  frivolous  cociuetry  which 
formed  a  study  and  was  a  science  with  most  of  her  sex. 
She  had  loved  Pierre  Philibi'rt  from  tlie  fust  awakening  of 
her  attections.  She  loved  him  now  with  a  passion  which 
in  her  heart  she  thougiu  it  no  shame  to  feel  for  her 
betrothed.  She  had  confessed  much  to  Pierre  of  her  love, 
but  shrank  with  virgin  modesty  from  trying  to  make  him 
comprehend  all  the  strength  and  greatness  of  it  ;  yet  the 
mere  overtlowin<j:  of  her  heart  hail  seemed  to  hiin  like  the 
rich  Hood  of  the  glorious  Nile  that  covers  all  the  l.md, 
enriching  it  with  the  harvests  of  I'-gypt.  but  even  he  had 
no  full  conception  of  the  magnitude  and  purity  of  that 
affection  which  lay  like  a  great  silence  {k)wn  in  the  still 
depths  of  her  soul. 

It  was  a  world  of  woman's  love  which  God  alone,  its 
creator,  could  measure.  Pierre  got  a  glimpse  of  it  through 
that  wondrous  look  of  her  dark  eyes  which  was  like  the 
opening  of  iieaven,  and  a  sudden  revelation  of  the  spiritual 
kingdom.  He  was  lost  in  admiration  not  unmingled  with 
awe  as  of  a  vision  of  sometiiing  most  holy,  and  so  it  was; 
so  is  every  true  woman's  love.  1 1  is  a  holy  and  sacred 
thing  in  the  sight  of  (iod  and  shi)nld  be  in  the  sight  of  man. 
Pierre  with  his  burthen  of  golden  lilies  came  back  over 
the  brook  and  seated  Ir-mself  beside  her,  his  arm  encircled 
her  and  she  hekl  his  hand  lirmly  clasped  in  both  of  hers. 

"  Amt'lie,"  said  he,  "  I  believe  now  in  the  jjower  of  fate 
to  remove  mountains  of  dirtu  ulty  and  cast  them  into  the 
sea.     How  often  while  watching   the  stars  wheel   silently 


:        Tf 


588 


THE  CmEAT  D'OR. 


over  my  head  as  T  lay  pillowed  on  a  stone,  while  my  com- 
rades slumbered  round  the  camp  fires,  have  I  repeated  my 
prayer  for  Amelie  De  Repenti<;ny !  I  had  norii:;ht  to  indulge 
a  hope  of  winnini;  your  love,  I  was  hut  a  rough  soldier, 
very  practical  and  not  at  all  imaginative.  "She  would  see 
nothing  in  me,"  I  said  ;  "and  still  I  would  not  have  given 
up  my  hope  for  a  kingdom  !  " 

"It  was  not  so  hard  after  all,  to  win  what  was  already 
yours,  Pierre,  was  it?"  said  she  with  a  smile  and  a  look  of 
unutteraLle  sweetness,  "  but  it  was  well  you  asked,  for 
without  asking  you  would  be  like  one  possessing  a  treasure 
of  gold  in  his  field  without  knowing  it,  although  it  was  all 
the  while  there  and  all  his  own.  But  not  a  grain  of  it 
would  vou  ha\e  found  without  askin<T  me,  Pierre  !  " 

"  i>ut  havinsr  found  it  I  shall  never  lose  it  ajjain,  dar- 
ling!  "    replied  he,  pressing  her  to  his  bosom. 

"Never,  Pierre,  it  is  yours  forever  I  "  replied  she,  her 
voice  trembling  with  emotion.  ''  Love  is,  I  think,  the 
treasure  in  heaven  which  rusts  not,  and  which  no  thief 
can  steal." 

"  Amelie  !  "  said  he  after  a  few  minutes  silence,  "some 
say  men's  lives  are  counted  not  by  hours  but  by  the  succes- 
sion of  ideas  and  emotions.  If  it  be  so,  I  have  li\ed  a  cen- 
tury of  happiness  with  you  this  afternoon  !  I  am  old  in 
love,  Amelie  !  " 

"  Nay,  I  would  not  have  you  old  in  love,  Pierre  I  love 
is  the  perennial  youth  of  tlie  soul.  Grande  Mere  St.  Pierre 
who  has  been  fifty  vears  an  Ursuline  and  has  now  the  visions 
which  are  promised  to  the  old  in  the  litter  days,  tells  me 
that  in  heaven  those  who  love  G xl  and  one  another  grow 
*ivermo.e  youthful  ;  the  older  the  more  beautiful  !  Is  not 
that  better  than  "the  jshilosoplurs  teach,  Pierre?" 

"  Better  than  all  teachnig  of  philosophy  are  your  words, 
Amelie.  Grande  Mere  St.  Pierre  has  discovered  a  truth 
that  the  academy  of  sciences  cannot  reach.  The  immor- 
tality of  Tithonus  was  full  of  decrejjitude  and  decay,  a  body 
without  a  soul  ;  but  the  immortality  that  spri.igs  from  love 
and  goodness  is  a  fountain  of  everlasting  youth,  because 
the  source  of  it  is  divine.  I  can  well  believe  you,  Amelie, 
the  more  vears  the  anijels  count  under  the  skies  of  heaven, 
the  more  beautiful  and  youthful  they  grow  forever!  It  is 
a  sweet  thought!  I  thank  you  for  it,  darling!  Had  De 
Soto  loved  as  we  do,  Amelie,  he  would  have  found  in  the 


4  !_-.. 


'' m  GOLD  CLASPSr  ETC 


589 


ruth 
mor- 
K)cly 
love 
Luse 
lie, 
^en, 
It  is 
pe 
[the 


heart  of  love  the  fountain  of  life  lie  souG;lit  for!  you  see 
darlinj^,"  continued  he  as  he  pressed  her  fondly  to  his  side, 
"  I  am  an  apt  scholar  of  the  Grande  Mfere's  philosophy." 

"  You  must  not  jest,  IMerre,  at  the  expense  of  our  phil- 
osophy," replied  she  smilinj;,  '*  there  is  more  in  it  than  man 
thinks,   I  sometimes  think  only  women  can  understand  it!  " 

*'  Nay,  1  jest  not,  but  believe  it  with  my  whole  soul  ! 
How  could  I  do  otherwise  with  its  proof  radiaii.iijj  from 
those  dear  eves  of  yours,  brijrht  enou'j;h  to  enliiflucn  tiie 
wisest  men  with  a  new  revelation  ? 

He  drew  her  closer,  and  Amelie  permitted  him  to  im- 
press a  kiss  on  each  eyelid  as  she  closed  it ;  suddenly  she 
started  up, 

"  Pierre,"  said  she,  "you  said  you  were  a  soldier  ami 
so  practical.  I  feel  shame  to  myself  for  being  so  imagin- 
ative and  so  silly.  I  too  would  be  practical  if  I  knew  how. 
This  was  to  be  a  day  of  business  with  us,  was  it  not, 
Pierre  1 " 

"  And  is  it  not  a  day  of  business,  Amelie?  or  are  we 
spending  it  like  holiday  children  wholly  on  pleasure?  But 
after  all,  love  is  the  business  of  life,  and  life  i.^  the  business 
of  eternity, — we  are  transacting  it  to-day,  AmtMie  !  I 
never  was  so  seriously  engaged  as  at  this  moment,  nor 
you  either,   darling  !    tell  the  truth  !  " 

Ame'lie  pressed  her  hands  in  his,  "  never,  Pierre,  a. id 
yet  I  cannot  see  the  old  brown  woods  of  Belmont  rising 
yonder  upon  the  slopes  of  St.  Foye  without  remembering 
my  promise  not  two  hours  old  to  talk  with  you  to-day 
about  the  dear  old  mansion." 

"  'I'hat  is  to  be  the  nest  of  as  happy  a  j^air  of  lovers  as 
ever  went  to  house-keeiMiig  !  and  1  promised  to  keep 
soberlv  bv  vour  side  as  I  am  doinir,"  said  he,  mischiev- 
ouslv  twitching  a  strav  lock  of  her  dark  hair,"  and  talk 
with  you  on  the  pretty  banks  of  the  Lairet,  about  the  old 
mansion." 

"Yes,  Pierre!  that  was  your  promise,  if  I  would  walk 
this  way  with  you, — where  shill  we  begin  ?" 

"  Here,  Amelie  !  replied  he,  kissing  her  fondly,  "  now 
the  congress  is  opened !  I  am  your  slave  of  the  wonderful 
lamp,  ready  to  set  up  and  pull  down  the  world  at  your 
bidding.  The  old  mansion  is  your  own.  It  shall  have  no 
rest  until  it  becomes  within  and  without  a  mirror  of  the 
perfect  taste  and  fancy  of  its  lawful  mistress." 


I 


4     4 


t  , 

5  .' 


59° 


r//E  CHIEN  D'OR. 


"  Not  yet,  Pierre !  I  will  not  let  you  divert  me  from  my 
purpose  by  your  flatteries.  The  dear  old  home  is  perfect, 
but  [  must  have  the  best  suite  of  rooms  in  it  for  your  noble 
father,  and  the  next  best  for  <;jood  Dame  Rochelle.  I  will 
fit  them  up  on  a  plan  of  my  own  and  none  shall  say  me 
nay, — that  is  all  the  change  I  shall  make  !  " 

"  Is  that  all  ?  and  you  tried  to  frighten  the  slave  of  the 
lamp  with  the  weight  of  your  commands  !  a  suite  of  rooms 
for  my  father  and  one  for  good  Dame  Rochelle  !  Really, 
and  what  do  you  devote  to  me,  Amelie." 

"  O  !  all  the  rest  with  its  mistress  included  !  for  the 
reason  that  what  is  good  enough  for  me  is  good  enough 
for  you,  Pierre  !  "  said  she  gaily. 

"You  little  economist!  why  one  would  say  you  had 
studied  house-keeping  under  Madame  Painchaud." 

'•  And  so  I  have  !  You  do  not  know  what  a  treasure  I  am, 
Pierre  !  "  said  she,  laughing  merrily.  "  I  graduated  under 
Mcs  Tautcs  in  the  kitchen  of  the  Ursulines,  and  received  an 
acccssit  as  bonne  mcnai^ere,  which  in  secret,  I  prize  more 
than  the  crown  of  honor  they  gave  me. 

"  Mv  fortune  is  made,  and  I  am  a  rich  man  for  life!" 
exclaimed  Pierre,  clapping  his  hands,  "  why,  1  shall  have 
to  marry  you  like  the  girls  of  Acadia  with  a  silver  thim- 
ble on  your  finger  and  a  pair  of  scissors  at  your  girdle, 
emblems  of  industrious  habits,  and  proofs  of  a  good  house- 
wife !  " 

"  Yes,  Pierre  !  and  I  will  comb  your  hair  to  my  own 
liking  !  Your  valet  is  a  rough  groom  !  "  said  she,  taking  off 
his  hat  and  |)assing  her  finger  through  his  thick,  fair  locks. 

Pierre,  although  always  dressed  and  trinuned  like  a  gen- 
tleman, really  cared  little  for  the  petit  niaitre  fashions  of 
the  day.  .^'ever  had  he  felt  a  thrill  of  such  exquisite  pleas- 
ure as  when  Amelie's  hands  arranged  his  rough  hair  to  her 
fancy. 

"  My  blessed  Amelie  I  "  said  he,  with  emotion,  pressing 
her  fingers  to  his  lips,  ''  never  since  my  mother  combed  my 
boyish  locks  has  s  woman's  hand  touched  my  hair  until 
now !  " 

The  sun  was  gradually  going  down  the  last  slope  of  day. 
The  western  sky  glowed  like  a  sea  of  fire,  reflecting  its  rays 
in  the  brook  that  glided  so  smoothly  at  their  feet.  A  few 
cattle  stood  quietly  in  the  water,  full  and  happy,  chewing 
their  cud  and  waiting  for  the  voice  of  the  cow  boy  to  call 


f.u 


''IN  CLASPS  OF  gold;'  ETC. 


S9I 


own 


day. 
jrays 

few 
iving 

call 


them  home  to  the  milking.  The  shadows  were  growing 
longer  upon  the  hill  sides.  The  broad  meadows  were  trem- 
ulous with  the  gentle  evening  bree/e.  Tlie  earth  was  bathed 
in  golden  li^ht  and  so  still,  that  no  sound  was  heard  save 
the  occasional  chirp  of  a  bird  and  the  quiet  ripi)le  of  the 
stream  over  the  pebbles,  as  it  flowed  past  at  their  feet. 

The  hour,  the  secluded  nook,  the  calmness  everywhere 
inclined  the  heart  to  confidence  and  tenderness,  grave  but 
not  satl. 

Pierre  and  Amelie  talked  reverently  of  their  marriage, 
which  was  to  open  to  them  the  portals  of  a  new  life,  when 
hand  in  hand  they  would  walk  together  their  allotted  path- 
way through  the  world,  and  at  the  end  of  that  pathway  out 
of  the  world  into  the  eternal. 

The  apostle  has  in  a  few  words  epitomized  the  meaning 
of  love  which  all  think  they  understand,  and  but  few  reach 
the  knowledge  of.  A  selfish  man  and  a  selfish  woman  love 
selfishly  for  their  own  sakes  ;  but  with  tru«!  men  and  true 
women,  love,  as  St.  Paul  says,  "is  without  dissinuUaiion, 
in  honor  preferring  one  another." 

Amelie  de  Repetitigny  and  Pierre  Philibert  had  this  in 
c  >mmon,  their  love  had  looted  itself  deeply  in  secret  and 
in  absence,  long  before  its  glorious  blooming.  It  was  with- 
out dissimulation,  and  in  honor  did  they  truly  prefer  one 
another. 

Its  days  of  fruition  alas,  never  came  !  But  why  antici- 
pate ?  Sufhcient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.  Happily 
the  day  is  not  sufiicient  for  the  good  !  for  the  good  en- 
dures for  ever  !  Their  love  never  received  its  consumma- 
tion on  earth  ;  but  for  all  that  it  did  not  fail  to  receive  it  in 
heaven  ! 

Amc'lie  felt  that  touch  of  sadness  w^hich  is  never  absent 
from  the  highest  happiness.  It  is  the  thin  veil  which  shad- 
ows the  brightness  of  the  vision  before  the  eyes  of  mortals. 

Leaning  her  head  fondly  against  the  shoulder  of  Pierre, 
she  bade  hiin  repeat  to  her  again,  to  her  who  had  not  for- 
gotten one  word  or  syllable  of  the  tale  he  had  told  her  be- 
fore, of  the  story  of  his  love. 

She  listened  with  moistened  eyelids  and  heaving  bosom 
as  he  told  her  again  of  his  faithfulness  in  the  past,  his  joys 
in  the  present,  and  his  hopes  in  the  future  !  She  feared  to 
look  up  lest  she  should  break  the  charm  ;  but  when  he  had 
ended  she  turned  to  him  passionately  and  kissed   his  lips 


I 


lii 


in 


593 


THE  C/f/EX  D'OR. 


m4 


m 

«l 

ii 

1'^ 

1 

i! 

|| 

Il 

m 

i': 

t!^ 


'-  !ii. 


and  bis  hands,  murnuHinc;.  *'  Thanks,  my  Pierre !    T  will  be 
a  true  and  loving  wife  to  you  !  " 

He  strained  her  to  his  bosom,  and  iield  her  fast  as  if 
fearful  to  let  her  go  I 

"  I  lor  iinage  at  that  last  cnib  ace 
All  !  liltlc  thought  he  'twas  the  last !  " 

Soniethinj::;  cast  its  shadow  over  them,  hut  they  heeded 
it  not.  Heeded  nothing;  hut  the  presence  of  each  other  ! 
These  blissful  moinenls  were  never  for!j;otten  by  them. 
Happen  what  would,  Pierre  and  Anielie  were  iniited  in  love 
forever  !  The  sun  was  going  down  in  clouds  of  glory.  The 
whole  west  changed  into  a  temple,  dazzling  with  effulgence 
and  hung  with  the  drajjery  of  golden  j)alaces.  The  Tem- 
ple of  Solomon  with  its  lofty  gates  glittering  in  the  morning 
sun  was  but  a  feeble  reflex  of  the  gates  of  heaven  ojjen  at 
this  moment,  as  if  to  let  in  the  pair  who  stood  glorified  in 
that  hour  of  beauty  and  happiness. 

The  vision  closed!  Dim  twilight  crept  into  the  valley. 
It  was  time  to  return  home.  I^ierre  and  Amelie,  full  of  joy 
in  each  other,  grateful  for  the  happiest  day  in  their  lives, 
hopeful  of  to-morrow  and  many  morrows  after  it,  and  mer- 
cifully blinded  to  what  was  really  before  them,  rose  from 
their  seat  under  the  great  spreading  elm.  They  slowly  re- 
traced the  path  through  the  meadow  leading  to  the  bridge, 
and  reentered  the  highway  which  ran  to  the  city,  where 
Pierre  conducted  Amelie  home. 


CHAPTER  LHI. 

THE    MARKET    PLACE    ON    ST.    MARTIN's    DAY. 

THE  smoky  fog  which  hung  heavily  over  the  city  on  the 
day  of  St.  Martin  lifted  suddenly  as  the  bells  of  the 
Cathedral  ceased  to  chime.  The  sound  of  the  organ,  the 
chanting  of  litanies  within  the  sacred  edifice  mingled  with 
the  voices  and  din  of  the  great  market  hard  by. 

The  sun  shone  large  and  ruddy  through  the  hazy  atmos- 
phere of  the  Indian  summer.     A  warm   breeze  swept  over 


I  will  be 
'ast  as  if 


»'  heeded 
h  other ! 
•y  them, 

1  in  love 
ry.  The 
ful<^ence 
he  Tem- 
inoniiii": 

oi)en  at 
rifled  in 

2  valley. 
II  of  joy 
ir  lives, 
lul  mer- 
se  from 

wly  re- 

.)ridge, 

where 


n  the 
3f  the 
n,  the 
I  with 

tmos- 
over 


THE  MARKET  PLACE  ON  ST.  MARTIN'S  DA  Y. 


593 


the  j:^eat  square,  singing;  the  requiem  of  Autumn  among 
the  dark  l)ou<;hs,  where  only  a  yellow  leaf  here  and  there 
dangled  and  tliittired  in  the  wind.  The  rest  of  Summer's 
foliage  lay  heaped  iji  nooks  and  corners  of  the  streets  whither 
it  had  been  swept  by  the  autumnal  gales.  The  first  frost 
had  come  and  gone  like  the  pinch  of  love,  tingnig  the 
deciduous  trees  with  a  flush  of  fire  and  but  leaving  the  dark 
pine  woods  and  evergreens  still  darker  amid  the  passitig 
glory. 

The  market  place  then  as  now,  occupied  the  open  square 
lying  between  the  great  Cathedral  of  Ste.  Marie  and  the 
College  of  the  Jesuits.  The  latter,  a  vast  edifux",  occupied 
one  side  of  the  square.  'I'hrough  its  wide  portal  a  glimpse 
was  had  of  the  gardens  and  broad  a\enues  of  ancient  trees, 
sacred  to  the  meditation  and  quiet  exercises  of  the  Rev- 
erend Fathers,  who  walked  about  in  pairs,  according  to  the 
rule  of  theirorder  which  rarely  permitted  them  to  go  singl\. 

The  market  place  itself  was  lively  this  morning  with  the 
number  of  carts  and  stalls  ranged  on  either  side  of  the 
bright  little  rivulet  which  ran  under  the  old  elms  that  inter- 
sected the  square,  the  trees  affording  shade  and  the  rivulet 
drink  for  man  and  beast. 

A  bustling,  loquacious  crowd  of  habitam  and  citizens, 
wives  and  maid  servants  were  buying,  selling,  exchanging 
compliments,  or  complaining  of  hard  times.  The  market 
place  was  full,  and  all  were  glad  at  the  termination  of  the 
terrible  war,  and  hopeful  of  the  hai)py  effect  of  peace  in 
bringing  plenty  back  again  to  the  old  market. 

The  people  bustled  up  and  down,  testing  their  weak 
purses  against  their  strong  desires  to  fill  their  baskets  with 
the  ripe  autunnial  fruits  and  the  products  of  field  and  gar- 
den, river  and  basse  cour  which  lay  temptingl\  exposed  in 
the  little  carts  of  the  marketmen  and  women  who  on  every 
side  extolled  the  quality  and  cheajjness  of  their  wares. 

■^rhere  were  ajiples  from  the  Cote  de  Beaupn'*,  small  in 
size  but  impregnated  with  the  tlavor  of  honey  ;  pears,  grown 
in  the  old  orchards  about  AngeOardien,  and  grai;)es  worthy 
of  Bacchus  from  the  Isle  c-f  Orleans,  with  baskets  of  the 
delicious  bilberries  that  cover  the  wild  hills  of  the  north 
shore,  from  the  first  wane  of  summer  until  late  in  the 
autumn. 

The  drain  of  the  war  had  starved  out  the  butcher's  stalls, 
but  Indians  and  hunters  took  their  places  for  the  nonce 

38 


iil 


594 


THE  CiriEX  D'OR. 


with  an  alniiKhmcc  of  j;aine  of  all  kinds,  which  had  multi- 
plied cxci'cdin;;!)'  durinjj^  the  years  tint  men  had  taken  to 
killinfTj  liostoiiais  and  IOn;;lish  instead  of  deer  and  wild  tur- 
keys. 

The  market  abounded  with  ihc  [jroducts  of  the  chase  by 
land  and  water.  Wild  geese,  swans  and  Civianis  on  their 
passage  frf)m  the  Bay  of  Hudson  and  a  thousand  northern 
lakes,  paid  heavy  toll  on  the  b.Utures  of  the  A/'  aux  Grucs 
and  on  the  Canardiere,  where  they  congregated  in  scream- 
ing thousantls  before  the  closing  in  of  winter  upon  the  St. 
Lawrence. 

Fish  w  IS  in  especial  abundance  ;  the  blessing  of  the  old 
Jesuits  still  rested  on  the  watiM's  of  Mew  France,  and  the 
fish  swarmed  metaphorically  with  money  in  their  niouths. 

There  were  piles  (jf  speckled  trout  lit  to  be  eaten  by 
Popes  and  Kings,  taken  in  the  little  pine  lakes  and  streams 
tributary  to  the  Montmf)rency.  Lordly  salmon  that  swarm- 
ed in  the  tid.d  weirs  along  the  shores  of  the  Si.  f^awrence, 
and  huge  eels,  thick  as  the  arm  of  the  fisher  who  drew 
them  up  from  their  rich  river  beds. 

In  the  early  (lays  of  the  colony  these  luscious  eels  formed 
the  main  staple  of  diet  to  the  citizens  of  Quebec,  who  by 
reason  of  the  scarcity  of  domestic  animals,  ke|)t  a  sort  of 
Lent  the  year  roinid;  but  always  with  abvmdant  thankf  ilness 
and  fear  of  God,  saving  their  souls  while  they  filled  their 
bellies  and  depending  on  the  grace  of  Providence  literally 
for  their  daily  fo.)d. 

'i'here  were  sacks  of  meal  ground  in  the  Hanal  mills 
of  the  Seigneuries  for  the  people's  bread,  but  the  old  tin- 
ettcs  of  yellow  butler,  the  pride  of  the  good  wives  of 
Beauport  and  Lauzon  were  rarelv  to  be  seen  and  command- 
ed unheard-of  war  prices  !  The  hungry  children  \\\\o  used  to 
eat  tartincs  of  bread  buttered  on  both  sides,  were  now 
accustomed  to  the  cry  of  their  frugal  mother  as  she  spread 
it  thin  as  if  it  were  gold  leaf  :  "  Ales  e/i/tjnis,  take  care  of  the 
butter!" 

The  Commissaries  of  the  Army,  in  other  words,  the 
agents  of  the  Grand  Company  had  swept  the  settlements 
far  and  near  of  their  herds,  and  tlie  habitans  sooa  discov- 
ered that  the  exposure  for  sale  in  the  market  of  the  pro- 
ducts of  the  dairy,  was  speedily  followed  by  a  visit  from 
the  purveyors  of  the  Army,  and  the  seizure  of  their  re- 
maining cattle. 


HlMe^- 


THE  MARKET  PLACE  OJV  ST.  MARTLV'S  DAY. 


595 


mills 

(1  //>/- 
'cs   of 

naiul- 
i.scd  to 
now 

jread 
of  the 

the 

noiits 

scov- 

pro- 

froin 

re- 


Roots  and  other  esiulcnts  of  Ik-hl  and  j^ardt-n  were 
more  pU'titiful  in  the  market,  anionj;  which  mi;;ht  have 
been  seen  the  newly  introchiced  potato,  a  vejjetabi  .•  long 
despised  in  New  France,  then  endured,  and  now  l)e;^iniiing 
to  l)c  liked  and  widely  cultivated  as  a  prime  article  of 
susti'nance. 

Immense  was  the  petty  tratVickinijj  done  that  morning 
in  the  market  <»f    the  upper  town,  an; id  the  jan<;ling  of  the 


Church  hells  and  a  babble  of  chi  erfui  voices,  such  as 


m 


ly 


•  still  be  heard  on  the  self-same  spot  on  a  market  day,  with 
but  little  change  of  language  or  even  of  subject  in  the 
market  talk  of  the  peojile  frequenting  it. 

At  the  upper  angle  of  the  scpiare  stood  a  lofty  cross 
or  holy  rood,  overtopping  the  low  roofs  of  the  shops  and 
booths  in  its  neighborhood.  Ab'>ui  the  fool  of  the  cross 
was  a  platform  of  timber  raised  a  few  teet  from  the  ground, 
giving  a  commanding  view  of  the  \''"ile  market  place. 

A  crowd  of  habitiVts  were  gathered  round  this  platform 
listening,  some  with  exclamations  of  approval,  not  unmin- 
gled  on  the  part  of  others  with  soimds  of  dissent,  to  the 
fervent  address  of  one  of  the  Jesuit  Fathers  from  the  Col- 
lege?, who  with  (Tucifix  in  hand  was  pri'aching  to  the  peo- 
ple upon  the  vices  and  backslidings  of  the  limes. 

Father  (roupion,  the  Superior  of  the  order  in  New 
France,  a  grave  saturnine  man,  and  several  other  Fathers 
in  close  black  cassoc-ks  and  square  caps,  stood  behind  the 
preacher,  watching  with  keen  eyes  the  faces  of  the  auditory 
as  if  to  discover  who  were  for  and  who  were  against  the 
sentiments  and  opinions  promulgated  by  the  preacher. 

I'he  storm  of  the  great  Jansenist  controversy,  which 
rent  the  Church  of  France  from  top  to  bottom,  had  not 
spared  the  colony,  where  it  had  early  cans  'd  trouble  ;  for 
that  controversy  grew  out  of  the  (iallican  liberties  of  the 
national  Church  and  the  right  of  national  participatie^n  in 
its  administrations  and  appointments.  The  Jesuits  ever 
fiercelv  contested  these  liberties,  thev  boldlv  set  the  tiara 
above  the  crown,  and  strove  to  subordinate  all  opinions  of 
faith,  morals,  education  and  ecclesiastical  government  to 
the  infallible  judgment  of  the  Pope  alone. 

The  Bishop  and  Clergy  of  New  P'rance  had  labored 
hard  to  prevent  the  introduction  of  that  mischievious  con- 
troversy into  the  colony,  and  had  for  the  most  part  suc- 
ceeded in  preserving  their  tiocks,  if  not  themselves,  from 


(::  f 


•596  THE  CHIEN  nOR. 

its  malign  influence.  The  growing  agitation  in  France, 
however,  made  it  more  c'ifficult  to  keep  down  troublesome 
spirits  in  the  colony,  and  the  idea  got  abroad,  not  without 
some  foundation,  that  the  Society  of  Jesus  had  secret 
con\mercial  relations  with  the  Friponne.  This  report  fan- 
ned the  mouldering  fires  of  Jansenism  into  a  flame  visible 
enough  and  threatening  enough  to  the  peace  of  the  church. 

The  failure  and  bankruptcy  of  Father  Vallette's  enor- 
mous speculations  in  the  West  Indies  had  filled  France 
with  bad  debts  and  protested  obligations  which  the  Society  . 
of  Jesus  repudiated,  but  which  the  Parliament  of  Paris  order- 
ed them  to  pay.  The  excitement  was  immense  all  over 
the  Kingdom  and  the  colonies.  On  the  part  of  the  order  it 
became  a  fight  for  existence. 

The  Jansenists  and  Molinists  had  long  disputed  the 
five  theoh  gical  j^ropositions  in  terms  that  filled  the  vocab- 
ulary of  invective  with  new-coined  words  of  polemical 
warfare,  and  which  afterwards  supplied  the  fiery  orators  of 
the  Revolution  with  an  armory  of  sharpest  weapons.  In 
fine,  the  pens  and  tongues  of  the  rival  controversialists  set 
the  whole  Kingdom  by  the  ears. 

The  position  of  the  order  was  becoming  daily  more 
critical  in  France.  They  were  envied  for  their  wealth  and 
feared  for  their  ability  and  their  power.  The  secular  clergy 
were  for  the  most  part  against  them.  The  Parliament  of 
Paris  in  a  violent  decree  had  declared  the  Jesuits  to  have 
no  legal  standing  in  Frarce.  The  rising  minister,  the 
Due  de  Choiseul,  was  bent  upon  suppressing  them  for 
their  opposition  to  the  modern  philosophy.  Voltaire  and 
his  followers,  a  growing  host,  thundered  at  them  from  the 
one  side.  The  Vatican  in  a  moment  of  inconsistencv  and 
ingratitude,  thundered  at  them  from  the  other.  They  were 
in  the  midst  of  fire,  and  still  their  ability  and  influence  over 
individual  consciences,  and  especially  over  the  female  sex, 
prolonged  their  power  for  fifteen  years  longer,  when 
Louis  XV.,  driven  to  the  wall  by  the  Jansenists,  issued  his 
memorable  decree  declaring  the  Jesuits  to  be  rebels,  trait- 
ors and  stirrers  up  of  mischief.  The  King  confiscated  their 
possessions,  proscribed  their  persons,  and  banished  them 
from  the  Kingdom  as  enemies  of  the  staie. 

The  dissolution  of  the  order  in  France,  was  naturally 
followed  by  its  dissolution  in  Canada,  and  the  gieat  Col- 
lege of  Quebec,  which  had  sent  out  scholars  to  teach  the 


'imm 


THE  MARKET  PLACE  O.V  ST.  MARTEYS  DAY. 


597 


people,  niissinnaries  to  convert  the  heathen,  arrl  martyrs  to 
die  for  their  faith,  in  every  part  of  North  An.L-rica  subject 
to  France,  became  a  barrack  for  iMiLjlish  soldiers,  and  such 
it  continued  to  our  dav  !  The  Cross  carved  over  the  an- 
cient  gateway,  with  the  sacred  letters  I  H  S  and  the  crown 
of  thorns  surmounting  the  weather-vane  upon  the  top  of 
its  highest  pinnacle,  alone  remain  to  show  the  original  pur- 
pose of  that  imposing  structure.  But  these  trials  were  yet  to 
come.  The  first  rumbling  of  the  distant  storm  was  as  yet 
only  beginning  to  be  heard  in  New  France. 

Padie  Monti,  an  Italian  newly  arrived  in  the  colony, 
was  a  man  very  different  from  the  venerable  Vimont  and  the 
Jogues  and  the  Lillements,  who  had  preached  the  Kvangel 
to  the  wild  tribes  of  the  forest,  and  rejoiced  when  they  won 
the  crown  of  martyrdom  for  themselves. 

Monti  was  a  bold  man  in  his  way,  and  ready  to  dare  any 
bold  deed  in  the  interests  of  religion,  which  he  could  not 
dissociate  from  the  interests  of  his  order.  He  stood  up, 
erect  and  commanding,  upon  the  platform  under  the  Holy 
Rood,  while  he  addressed  with  fiery  elocjuencc  and  [talian 
gesticulation  the  crowd  of  people  gathered  round  him. 

The  subject  he  chose  was  an  exciting  one.  He  en- 
larged upon  the  coming  of  Anti-Christ  and  upon  the  new 
philosophy  of  the  age,  the  growth  of  Gallicanism  in  the 
colony,  with  its  schismatic  progeny  of  Jansenists  and 
Hotuietes  Gi.ns,  to  the  discouragement  of  true  religion  and 
the  endangering  of  immortal  souls. 

His  covert  allusions  and  sharp  innuendoes  were 
perfectly  understood  by  his  hearers,  and  signs  of  dissen- 
tient feeling  were  rife  among  the  crowd.  Still  the  people 
continued  to  listen  on  the  whole  respectfully,  for  whatever 
might  be  the  sentiment  of  old  France  with  respect  to  the 
Jesuits,  they  had  in  New  France  inherited  the  profound 
respect  of  the  colonists,  and  deserved  it. 

I'he  preacher,  the  belter  to  excite  the  sympathy  and 
enlist  the  prejudices  of  the  people,  launched  out  into  a 
long  allegory  on  the  suffering  of  Faith,  which  he  described 
as  Christ  laid  on  the  wayside,  stripped,  wounded,  and 
half  dead,  like  the  man  who  went  down  to  Jericho  and  fell 
among  thieves. 

Priest  and  Levite  meaning  the  Jansenists  and  secular 
clergy,  passed  him  by  and  went  on  the  other  side.  The 
good    Samaritan,   meaning  the   Jesuit  Fathers,  had  had 


598 


Tim  CiriEN  D'OR. 


compnssion  on  him,  bound  up  his  wounds,  pouring  in  oil 
and  wine,  and  look  him  to  the  Inn,  the  Church,  where  they 
left  him  in  charge  of  the  host,  with  two-pence,  the  tithes 
and  offerings  of  the  faithful,  to  take  care  of  him,  with  a 
promise  to  repay  whatever  was  spent  more. 

"  There  were  three  crosses  raised  on  Calvary,"  con- 
tinued the  preacher,  "one  for  the  impenitent  thief  who 
railed  and  was  damned,  one  for  the  penitent  thief  who 
confessed  his  sin  and  supped  with  his  Lord  in  Paradise  ; 
but  Christ's  cross  alone  is  enough  for  us,  let  us  embrace 
and  kiss  that  !  " 

The  preacher  turned  round  and  clasped  the  Holy  Rood 
in  his  arms  after  the  fervid  manner  of  Italians,  and  all  his 
hearers  crossed  themselves  and  repeated  amen !  He 
waited  for  the  space  of  a  7niscrere  ■\w(S.  went  on. 

"  This  is  all  we  need  to  live  by,  and  die  by,  Oh !  my 
brothers  !  But  do  we  live  by  it .''  We  crucify  our  Lord 
daily  by  our  trespasses  and  sins,  but  do  we  also  crucify 
the  thieves  in  our  midst .-'  The  Jansenists  who  rob  God  of 
his  honors,  and  man  of  the  merits  of  his  works  !  who  cry 
grace  !  grace  !  when  they  should  cry  work  and  pray  !  pray 
and  work  and  earn  as  faithful  laborers — God's  hire  if  it  be 
only  ?  penny  in  the  eleventh  hour  !  " 

"  The  Honnetes  Gens  rob  God  of  his  dues,  and  the 
king's  subjects  of  their  hearts,  crying  peace,  peace,  and 
withhold  the  tribute  money  of  Caisar,  the  king's  dues  and 
taxes,  and  appeal  to  the  Parliament  of  Paris  not  to  register 
the  decrees  of  our  lawful  authorities  !  The  Jansenists  and 
the  Honnetes  Gens  sit  on  high  seats  and  are  protected 
and  cherished  in  king's  houses  ;  yea!  in  castles !  "  The 
preacher  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  pinnacles  of  the 
Castle  of  St.  Louis,  visible  above  the  housetops  which 
intervened  between  it  and  the  market  place. 

"  No  wonder  charity  waxeth  cold  in  the  rich,  and  the 
spirit  of  disobedience  increaseth  in  the  poor  !  These  are 
pregnant  signs  of  the  consummation  of  the  age,  in  which, 
if  the  days  be  not  shortened,  your  house  shall  soon  be  left 
to  you  desolple  !  " 

"  The  Jansenists  and  Honnites  Gens  sit  day  after  day  in 
their  seats  like  so  many  Pilates  asking — '  what  is  Truth  ?' 
and  disputing  the  decrees  of  the  Church — with  threats  to 
refer  them  to  the  Parliament  of  private  judgment !  Serpcntes 
— O  I  Gcnimina    Viper  arum  I   Quofnodo  fugietis  a  judicio 


I 


THE  MARKET  PLACE  ON  ST.  MARTIN'S  DAY. 


599 


ft 


GeheivK^  f     O !    generation     of    vijx^rs !     How   will    you 
escape  the  damnation  of  hell  ?" 

"These  are  things,  (),  my  hearers  !  to  call  down  upon 
our  heads  tiie  sword  of  St.  Michael,  more  terrible  than  the 
sword  of  the  English." 

"  The  Scribes  and  the  Pharisees  of  Jansenism  no 
longer  sit  in  Moses'  seat,  to  despute  the  droit  and  the  fait 
from  the  bocage  of  Port  Royal  which  is  covered  with  the 
ruins  of  their  house  and  overgrown  with  nettles,  docks, 
and  all  e\  il  weeds — the  product  of  their  five  heresies,  cx)n- 
clemne<l  like  tares  to  everlasting  fiiQ,  by  the  anathema  of 
the  Vatican  !  But  they  disapjx^ar  as  Religieux,  to  reappear 
as  politicians  and  Hotitiftcs  Gens!  In  the  seditious 
parliaments  of  Paris  and  Rouen,  and  among  the  Bourgeois 
of  tlie  colonies,  like  the  Golden  Dog,  thev  threaten  to 
bite  the  good  shepherds  who  take  care  of  the  fiock  of 
Christ !  " 

A  commotion  and  cries  of  dissent  broke  from  a  portion 
oi  liie  crowd,  but  the  iiitrepid  Jesuit  went  on. 

''The  Jansenists  build  not  the  tonibs  of  the  prophets, 
but  only  the  tomb  of  the  anti-propliet,  Diacre  I'aris,  of 
St.  Meilard,  where  the  uncanonized  saint  imid  convulsions 
of  men  and  women,  wrought  liis  two  onlv  miracles  !  The 
man  who  canK;  to  the  tomb  to  pray  for  the  restoration  (.f 
his  one  broken  leg,  was  carried  out  with  two'  and  the 
woman,  whom  the  uncanonized  saint  ciin'd  of  an  issue, 
went  blind  instead  !  The  prayers  of  St.  Paris  are  naught. 
God  only  heard  them  to  their  confusion." 

A  loud  laugh  followed  this  sally  of  the  preacher,  not  at 
the  irreverence  of  the  remark,  but  at  the  tlefeat  of  the 
Jansenists,  which  sliowed  that  half  the  crowd  of  hearers 
at  least,  had  no  sympathy  with  tlie  teachings  of  Port 
Ro\al- 

The  laugh,  however,  was  met  with  many  indignant 
denials,  from  another  jK>rtion  of  the  crowd,  of  the  preacher's 
version  of  the  miracles  at  the  tomb  of  Diacre  Paris.  One 
side  seemed  ;is  determinetl  to  Ixilieve,  as  tiie  others  were 
to  dispute  the  genuineness  of  the  nuracles  asserted  to  have 
been  wrought  tliere  ;  a  point  which  at  tliat  moment  divided 
France  itself  into  two  uncompromising  theological  camps, 
to  the  intense'  delight  of  the  Savans  and  piiilosophers  who 
ridiculed  both  sides,  and  religi<Mi  itself. 

The  king  ordered  the  tomb  to  be  walled  up,  and  no 


!^ 


3    »¥l 


it 


600 


THE  C/IIEiV  nOR. 


one    to   be  allowed  to  approach  it.     This  measure   g^ave 
•  occasion  to  tlie  famous  Jansenist  pasquinade,  written  over 
the  gate  of  the  cemetery  of  St.  Medard — 

"  Dc  par  le  Roy!  Defence  a  Dieu, 
De  plus  operer  en  ce  lieu  !" 

A  few  gentlemen,  some  in  military,  some  in  fashionable 
civil  attire,  strolled  up  towards  the  crowd,  but  stood  some- 
what aloof,  and  outside  of  it.  The  market  people  pressed 
closer  and  closer  round  the  platform,  listening  with  mouths 
open,  and  eager  eyes  to  the  sermon,  storing  it  away  in 
their  retentive  memories,  which  would  reproduce  every 
word  of  it,  when  they  sat  round  the  fire-side  in  the  coming 
winter  evenings. 

One  or  two  Recollets  stood  at  a  modest  distance  from 
the  crowd,  still  as  statues,  with  their  hands  hid  in  the 
sleeves  of  their  grey  gowns,  shaking  their  heads  at  the 
arguments,  and  still  more  at  the  invectives  of  the  Preacher  ; 
for  the  Recollets  were  accused,  wrongfully  perhaps,  of 
studying  the  live  propositions  of  Port  Royal,  more  than 
beseemed  the  hunU)le  followers  of  St.  Francis  to  do,  and 
ihey  either  could  not  or  would  not  repel  the  accusation. 

I'he  Jesuits  were  not  a  little  feared  by  the  other 
religious  orders,  for  their  intellectual  superiority — their 
sulule  spirit,  and  untiring  perseverance,  which  by  high- 
ways or  by-ways  never  failed  to  achieve  its  objects.  The 
RtcoUets  were  loved  and  not  feared  at  all.  Too  much 
familiarity  with  all  classes,  especially  with  the  ix>or,  while 
it  did  not  lessen  the  value  of  their  labors,  rubl^ed  off  some 
of  the  respect  that  was  their  due. 

.A  proverb  was  current  in  the  coiony,  that  a  fine  pen- 
knife was  needed  to  carve  a  Jesuit,  a  Priest  required  a 
siiarp  chisel,  but  an  axe  was  good  enough  to  block  out  a 
Recollet!  yet,  despite  this  homely  opinion  of  the  good 
b  others  Ol  St.  Francis,  they  came  closer  lo  the  people's 
h  arts  than  anv  other  of  the  religious  oiders. 

'•  Padre  Monti  deserves  the  Ijest  thanks  of  the  Intendant 
for  this  sermon,"  remarked  the  Sieur  DKstebe,  to  Le 
Mercier,  who  accompanied  him. 

"  And  the  worst  thanks  of  His  Excellency  the  Count ! 
It  was  bold  of  the  Italian  to  beard  the  Governor  in  that 
manner !     But  La  Gallissoniere  is  too  great  a  philosoph 


THE  MARKET  PLACE  O.V  ST.  AfARTEV'S  DAY.  Coi 


to  mind  a  priest!"  was  the  half-scoffing  reply  of  Le 
Mercier. 

"  Is  he  ?  J  do  not  think  so,  Le  Mercier.  T  hate  them 
myself,  but  egad  !  I  am  not  philosoph  enough  to  let  them 
know  it!  One  may  do  so  at  Paris,  but  not  in  New  Fiance. 
Besides,  the  Jesuits  are  just  now  our  fast  friends,  and  it 
does  not  do  to  quarrel  with  your  supporters  !" 

"True,  D'Esiebe  !  we  get  no  help  from  the  Recollets. 
Look  vonder  at  Hrothers  Ambrose  and  Daniel!  thcvvvould 
like  to  ti"  i'adre  Monti  neck  and  heels  with  the  cords  of 
St.  Fraicis,  and  bind  him  over  to  keep  the  peace  towarils 
Port  Roval  !  but  the  grey  gowns  are  afraid  of  the  black 
robes.  Padre  Monti  knew  t!iey  would  not  catch  the  ball 
when  he  threw  it.  I'he  Recollets  are  all  afraid  to  hurl  it 
back." 

"Not  all,"  was  the  reply;  "the  Reverend  Father  de 
Berey  would  have  thrown  it  back  with  a  vengeance  !  But 
I  confess,  Le  Mercier,  the  Padre  is  a  bold  fellow  to  pitch 
into  the  Honiu-tcs  Gens  the  way  he  does.  I  did  not  think 
he  would  have  ventured  upon  it  here  in  the  market,  in  face 
of  so  many  /labitiJiis,  who  swear  by  the  Bourgeois  Phili- 
bert. " 

"  O  !  it  was  quite  time  to  check  the  prevailing  murmurs 
of  discontent,  and  give  the  Honiivtcs  Gens  a  hint  to  mode- 
rate their  hostility.  Besides,  the  Jansenists  are  lifting  their 
heads  again  in  France,  saucy  as  ever,  and  we  are  sure  to 
feel  the  effects  of  it  here.     Don't  vou  think  so,  D'Fstebe?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Le  Mercier,  "they  say  the  Parliament  of 
Paris  and  half  the  Court  are  Jansenists  on  all  fours,  and 
that  the  overthrow  of  the  Jesuits  is  a  settled  thing  among 
the  leading  philosophs  of  Versailles.  De  Choiseul  is  the 
head  and  tail  of  the  plot.  His  itching  fingers  long  to 
touch  the  money  Ixigs  of  the  Society  of  Jesus." 

"  It  will  be  doomsday  with  the  order,  if  DeChoiseul  get 
the  upper  hand,"  continued  Le  Mercier,  "  Nor  are  we  much 
better  ofT  here.  The  Count  has  been  fuming  like  the 
kitchen  chimney  of  the  castle,  ever  since  he  got  wind  of 
that  affair  at  Ville  Marie." 

"What  affair,  Mercier?"  added  D'Fstebe. 

"  Whv,  that  affair  of  the  comptoirs  of  the  Demoiselles 
Desaulniers  at  Saiilt  St.  Louis.  DeChoiseul  is  making  a 
handle  of  it,  I  assure  you  ! 

"  Oh  !   1  heard  of  that  from  the   Intendant.     What  a 


6o2 


THE  ciirEiv  lyoR. 


\ 


truitful  text  to  preach  from  !  If  the  Recollets  only  had 
wit  aiul  coiuMf^e,  how  they  ini<;ht  retort.  Eh,  Le  Mercier  ? 
but  how  did  it  leak  out?  'I'hat  secret  was  supposed  to  be 
water  and  fire-proof.  Those  cursed  old  maids  must  have 
babbled  as  women  will." 

'*  No  ;  the  Demoiselles  Desaulniers  were  tight  as  wax. 
They  never  told  the  secret.  It  was  the  Hourgeois  Philibert, 
the  Golden  Dog,  who  nosed  it  oul,  as  he  does  everything 
else  to  our  disadvantage." 

This  was  in  allusion  to  an  immense  fur-trading  establish- 
ment carried  on  in  the  niission  at  Sault  St.  Louis,  in  the 
name  of  a  couple  of  maiden  ladies  of  Montreal.  The  real 
owners  of  the  establisment  being  certain  Jesuit  Fathers, 
who  the  better  to  secure  their  influence  over  the  Iroquois 
of  Caughnawaga  and  to  stop  their  secret  dealings  with  the 
English,  erected  these  comptoirs  at  Sault  St.  Louis  in  the 
name  of  the  Demc" ielles  Desaulniers. 

The  gr  '  nd  company  encouraged  this  establishment,  caring 
nothing  r  the  religious  considerations  of  the  Jesuits, 
but  hoped  to  secure  the  support  of  the  order  by  allowing 
them  a  secret  share  in  the  fur  trade. 

During  the  war  no  controversy  had  been  raised  respect- 
ing that  establishment,  but  with  the  advent  of  peace  the 
sparks  of  discontent  were  blown  speedily  into  a  flame. 

Upon  the  arrival  of  the  Marquis  de  Jonquieres  as  Gover- 
nor in  place  of  the  Count  de  la  Gallissoniere,  a  fierce  con- 
troversy began  with  the  college  of  Jesuits  in  regard  to  the 
comptoirs  of  the  Demoiselles  Desaulniers. 

The  end  of  it  was  that  the  Marquis  de  Jonquieres  sum- 
marily decided  all  points  according  to  his  own  view  of  the 
matter,  and  closed  up  the  establishment  by  a  royal  decree. 

This  affair  caused  immense  feeling  and  unpleasantness, 
and  was  afterwards  brought  up  in  judgment  against  the 
Order  in  connection  with  their  avowed  commercial  specu- 
lations in  the  West  Indies,  the  failure  of  which  aggravated 
the  theological  quarrel  with  the  Jansenists,  and  led  to  the 
suppression  of  the  whole  Ortler  in  France  and  her  colonies. 

The  bold  denunciations  by  the  preacher  against  the 
Hoiinetcs  Gens  and  against  the  people's  friend  and  protector, 
the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  caused  a  commotion  in  the  crowd 
of  habitans^  who  began  to  utter  louder  and  louder  excla- 
mations of  dissent  and  remonstrance.  A  close  observer 
would  have  noticed  angry  looks  and  clenched  fists  in  many 


Ig 


THE  MARKET  PLACE  ON"  ST.  A/A/HTLV'S  DAY.  603 

parts  of  the  crowd,  pressing  closer  and  closer  round  the 
platform. 

The  signs  of  increasing  tumult  in  the  crowd  did  not 
escape  the  sharp  eyes  of  Father  (Ilapion,  who,  seeing  that 
the  hot-blooded  Italian  was  over-stepping  the  bounds  of 
prudence  in  his  harangue,  called  him  by  name,  and  with  a 
half  angry  sign,  brought  his  sermon  suddenly  to  a  close. 
Padre  Monti  ojeyed  with  the  unciuestioning  promptness  of 
an  automaton.  He  stopped  instantly,  without  rounding 
the  period  or  finishing  the  sentence  that  was  in  his  mouth. 

His  Hushed  and  ardent  manner  changed  to  the  calmness 
of  marble,  as  lifting  up  his  hands  with  a  dc\o\\t  n/rmus,  he 
uttered  a  brief  prayer  and  left  the  puzzled  people  to  finish 
his  speech  and  digest  at  leisure  his  singular  sermon. 

"  I  do  not  care  for  tl)e  Jansenists.  Our  Cure  says  they 
are  no  better  than  Calvinists."  remarked  an  old  staid 
habitan  to  his  neighbor.  "  A  good  deed  without  a  word 
spoken,  is  a  better  prayer  for  a  Christian  man  than  a  ship- 
load of  sermons  like  the  Padre's  ;  but  lo  !  they  are  all 
going  back  into  the  college." 

''  High  time,"  was  the  reply,  "  High  time.  Broken  heads 
would  have  been  plentiful  as  potatoes  in  the  market,  had 
he  continued  to  denounce  the  Honnetcs  GcnsAwC^.  the  Golden 
Dog.  If  he  had  only  continued  to  belabor  the  Jansenists, 
nobody  could  feel  sorry.  'They  can  be  kicked,  for  they 
have  few  friends.  I  mock  at  St.  Paris,  but  neither  do  I 
believe  in  the  Friponne." 

"  You  say  right,  neighlior.  The  Jesuits  are  too  learned 
for  you  and  me.  I  am  more  afraid  than  fond  of  them.  It 
would  be  long  before  a  plain  honest  RecoUet  would  bid 
us  distrust  the  Honnctcs  Gens — the  people's  friends — or 
warn  us  against  the  bite  of  the  Golden  Hog." 

"Pray,  say  not  so,  Jean  Huot,"  said  a  quiet  voice, 
while  a  gentle  hand  twitched  his  sleeve.  It  was  the  Re- 
collet  Brotlier  Daniel.  '*\V'e  only  teach  you  to  fear  God, 
to  honor  the  King,  and  respect  those  in  authority  ;  to  be 
no  brawlers,  but  gentle,  showing  all  meekness  to  all  men. 
Our  good  Brothers  the  Jesuits  teach  you  the  same  things, 
only  they  set  greater  store  by  the  wise  head  than  by  the 
loving  iieart,  unlike  us  poor  RecoUets  who  have  only 
wisdom  enough  to  know  that  charity  never  faileth,  while 
knowledge  vanisheth  away,  for  though  we  have  faith  to 
remove  mountains,  and  have  not  charity,  we  are  nothing." 


is    '  ' 


604 


T//E  C///EA^  nOR. 


The  soft  words  of  Brother  Daniel  fell  like  oil  upon  the 
troubled  waters.  The  angry  crowd  relaxed  its  pressure 
round  tlie  Holy  Rood  and  dispersed  through  the  market, 
carrying  to  every  cart,  stall  and  grou|>  of  people,  a  feeling 
of  uneasiness,  as  if  the  troubles  of  the  day  were  not  over. 
'I'he  sermon  had  excited  the  people,  and  wherever  a  cluster 
of  habitans  or  citizens  got  together,  the  Padre's  bold 
attack  upon  the  Governor  and  the  Honiietcs  Gens  was  dis- 
cussed with  heat  and  acrimony. 

The  market  was  now  thronged  with  people  busily  mak- 
ing their  little  purchases,  and  paying  out  their  money  with 
a  careful  hand,  for  the  hard  times  severely  pinched  the 
purses  and  baskets  of  the  poor. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 


"  BLESSED  THEY  WHO  DIE  DOING  THY  WILL." 


s|-l 


IT  was  the  practice  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  to  leave 
his  counting-room  to  walk  through  the  market  place, 
not  for  the  sake  of  the  greetings  he  met,  although  he 
received  them  from  every  side,  nor  to  buy  or  sell  on  his 
own  account,  but  to  note  with  quick,  sympathizing  eye  the 
poor  and  needy,  and  to  relieve  their  wants. 

Especially  did  he  love  to  meet  the  old,  the  feeble,  the 
widow  and  the  orphan,  so  numerous  from  the  devastation 
of  the  long  and  bloody  war. 

He  knew  the  poor  even  better  than  the  rich.  It  was 
his  delight  to  call  them  byname,  to  fill  their  empty  baskets 
with  good  things,  to  send  them  home  rejoicing,  and  not 
thanking  him  for  it  too  much  !  He  carefully  taught  them 
that  he  was  only  a  poor  steward  of  his  Lord'  s  goods,  and 
Christ  bade  all  men  be  loving  and   helpful  to  each   other. 

The  liourjreois  had  another  dailv  custom  which  he  ob- 
served  with  unfailing  regularity.  His  table  in  the  House 
of  the  Golden  Dog  was  set  every  day  with  twelve  covers 
and  dishes  for  twelve  guests — **  the  twelve  apostles,"  as  he 
gaily  used  to  say,  "  whom  1  love  to  have  dine  with  me,  and 
who  come  to  my  door  in  the  guise  of  poor,  hungry  and 


■■m 


"BLESSED  THEY  WHO  DIE:'  ETC.  605 

thirsty  men,  neerlinj;  meat  and  drink.  Stran;;ers  to  be 
taken  in,  and  sick  wanting  a  friend."  If  no  other  guests 
came  he  was  always  sure  of  the  "apostles"  to  enij5ty  his 
table,and,  while  some  sim|)le  dish  sufficed  for  himself,  he  or- 
dered the  whole  banquet  to  be  given  away  to  tiie  poor.  His 
choice  wines,  which  he  scarcely  permitted  himself  to  ta>te, 
were  removed  from  his  table,  and  sent  to  the  Hotel  Dieu, 
the  great  Convent  of  the  Nuns  Hospital  i^res,  for  the  use  of 
the  sick  in  their  charge,  while  the  bourgeois  returned 
thanks  with  a  heart  more  content  than  if  kings  had  dined 
at  his  table. 

To-day  was  the  day  of  St.  Martin,  the  anniversary  of 
the  death  of  his  wife,  who  still  li\ed  in  his  memory  fresh 
as  upon  the  day  he  took  her  away  as  his  bride  from  her 
Norman  home.  Upon  every  recurrence  of  that  day,  and 
I'pon  some  other  special  times  and  holida\s,  his  bounty  was 
doubled,  and  the  Bourgeois  made  preparations,  as  he  jocu- 
larly used  to  say,  "  not  only  for  the  twelve  apostles,  but 
for  the  seventy  disciples  as  well  I  " 

He  had  just  dressed  himself  with  scrupulous  neatness 
in  the  fashion  of  a  plain  gentleman,  as  was  his  wont,  with- 
out a  trace  of  ff)ppery.  With  \\\^  stout  gold-headed  cane 
in  his  hand,  he  was  descending  the  stairs  to  go  out  as 
usual  to  the  market,  when  Dame  Rochelle  accosted  him  in 
the  hall. 

Her  eyes  and  whole  demeanor  wore  an  expression  of 
deep  anxiety  as  the  good  Dame  looked  up  in  the  face  of 
the  Bourgeois  : 

"  Do  not  go  to  the  market  to-day,  dear  master!  "  said 
she  beseechingly  ;  "  I  have  been  there  myself  and  have 
ordered  all  we  need  for  the  due  honor  of  the  dav." 

"Thanks,  good  Dame,  for  remembering  the  blessed  an- 
niversary, but  you  know  I  am  exi)ecte(l  in  the  market. 
It  is  one  of  i-.)>  special  days.  Who  is  to  fill  the  baskets  of 
the  poor  people  who  feel  a  delicacy  about  coming  for  alms 
to  the  door,  unless  1  go.  Charity  fulfils  its  mission  best 
when  it  respects  the  misfortune  of  being  poor  in  the  per- 
sons of  its  recipients.  1  must  make  my  round  of  the  mar- 
ket, good  Dame." 

"And  still,  dear  master,  go  not  to-day  ;  I  never  asked 
you  before  ;  1  do  this   time.     1  fear  some   evil   this  morn- 

r  t  " 

The  Bourgeois  looked  at  her  inquiringly.     He  knew 


i»^ 


6o6 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


the   good   Dame  too  well  not  to  be  sure  she  had  some 
weighty  reason  for  her  request. 

"  Wliiit  particularly  moves  you  to  this  singular  request, 
Dame  Rochelle  ?"  asked  he. 

"  A  potent  reason,  master,  but  it  would  not  weigh  a 
grain  with  you  as  with  me.  There  is  this  morning  a  wild 
spirit  afloat — people's  minds  have  been  excited  by  a  ser- 
mon from  one  of  the  College  Fathers.  The  friends  of  the 
Intendant  are  gathered  in  force,  they  say,  to  clear  the  mar- 
ket of  the  Ilofincies  Gens.  A  disturbance  is  inij^ending. 
That,  master,  is  one  reason.  My  other  is  a  presentiment 
that  some  harm  will  befall  you  if  you  go  to  the  market  in 
the  midst  of  such  excitement." 

"Thanks,  good  Dame,"  replied  the  Bourgeois  calmly, 
"  both  for  your  information  and  your  presentiment  ;  but 
they  only  furnish  an  additional  reason  why  1  should  go  to 
try  to  prevent  any  disturbance  among  my  fellow  citizens." 

"  Still,  master,  you  see  not  what  I  see,  and  hear  not 
what  I  hear,  and  would  not  believe  it  did  I  tell  you  !  I 
beseech  you  go  not  to-day  !  "  exclaimed  she,  imploringly, 
clasping  her  hands  in  the  eagerness  of  her  appeal. 

"  Good  Dame,"  replied  he,  "  1  deeply  respect  your  solici- 
tude, but  I  could  not,  without  losing  all  respect  for  myself 
as  a  gentleman,  stay  away  out  of  any  consideration  of  im- 
pending danger.  I  should  esteem  it  my  duty  all  the  more  to 
go,  if  there  be  danger,  which  I  caimot  believe." 

"O,  that  Pierre  were  here  to  accompany  you  !  But  at 
least  take  some  servants  with  you,  master,"  implored  the 
Dame,  persisting  in  her  request. 

"Good  Dame,  I  cannot  consult  fear  when  I  have  duty 
to  perform  ;  besides  I  am  in  no  danger.  I  have  enemies 
enough,  I  know  ;  but  he  would  be  a  bold  man  who  would 
assail  the  Bourgeois  Philibert  in  the  open  market  place  of 
Quebec." 

*'  Yet,  there  may  be  such  a  bold  man,  master,"  replied 
she.  "  There  are  many  such  men  who  would  consider  they 
did  the  Intendant  and  themselves  good  service  by  com- 
passing your  destruction  I  " 

"  May  be  so,  Dame,  but  I  should  be  a  mark  of  scorn  for 
all  men  if  I  evaded  a  duty,  small  or  great,  through  fear  of 
the  Intendant,  or  any  of  his  friends." 

*'  I  knew  my  appeal  would  be  in  vain,  master,  but  for- 
give my  anxiety.     God  help  you  !     God  defend  you  !  " 


i 
■ 


-iil' 


"BLESSED  rilEY  WHO  DIE;'  ETC. 


607 


go  to 


She  looked  at  liini  fixedly  for  a  moment.  He  saw  her 
features  were  ciuiveriiig  with  emoti(jn  and  her  eyes  tilled 
with  tears. 

"Good  Dame,"  said  he  kindly,  taking  her  hand, '*  I 
respect  your  motives,  and  will  so  far  show  my  regard  for 
your  forecast  of  danger  as  to  take  my  sword,  which  after  a 
good  conscience  is  the  best  friend  a  gentleman  can  have  to 
stand  by  him  in  peril.     Please  bring  it  to  me." 

"Willingly,  nuister,  and  may  it  be  like  the  sword  of  the 
Cherubim,  to  guard  and  j^rotect  you  to-day  1  " 

She  went  into  the  great  hall  for  the  rapier  of  the 
Bourgeois,  which  he  only  vvore  on  occasions  of  full  dress 
and  ceremony.  He  took  it  smilingly  from  her  hand,  and, 
throwing  the  belt  over  his  siioulder,  bade  Dame  Ro- 
chelle  good-bye,  and  proceeded  to  the  market. 

The  Dame  looked  earnestly  after  him  until  he  turned 
the  corner  of  the  great  Cathedral,  when,  wiping  her  eyes, 
she  went  into  the  house  and  sat  down  pensively  for  some 
minutes. 

"  Would  that  Pierre  had  not  gone  to  St.  Ann's  to-day  !" 
cried  she.  "  My  master !  my  noble,  good  master  !  I  feel 
there  is  evil  abroad  for  him  in  the  market  to-day."  She 
turned  as  was  her  wont  in  time  of  trouble  to  the  open 
Bible  that  ever  lay  upon  her  table,  and  sought  strength  in 
,  meditation  upon  its  sacred  pages. 


There  was  much  stir  in  the  market  when  the  bourgeois 
began  his  accustomed  walk  among  the  stalls,  stoj)jjing  to 
converse  with  such  friends  as  he  met,  and  especially  with 
the  poor  and  infirm,  who  did  not  follow  him — he  hated  to 
be  followed — but  who  stood  waiting  his  arrival  at  certain 
points  which  he  never  failed  to  pass.  The  Bourgeois 
knew  that  his  poor  almsmen  would  be  standing  there,  and 
he  would  no  more  avoid  them  than  he  would  avoid  the 
Governor. 

A  group  of  girls  very  gaily  dressed  loitered  through  the 
market,  purchasing  bouquets  of  the  last  of  autumnal 
flowers,  and  coquetting  with  the  young  men  of  fashion  who 
chose  the  market  place  for  their  morning  promenade,  and 
•who  spent  their  smiles  and  wit  freely,  and  sometimes  their 
money,  upon  the  young  ladies  they  expected  to  find  there. 

This  morning  the  Demoiselles  Grandmaison  and  Hebert 
were  cheapening  immortelles  and  dry  flowers  to  decorate 


6o8 


THE  Cl/ir.X  D'OR. 


their  vvinler  vases — a  pleasant  fashion  not  out  of  date  in 
the  city  at  the  present  day. 

Tile  attention  of  these  young  hidies  was  quite  as  much 
taken  up  with  the  talk  of  tiicir  tavahers  as  witii  tlK-ir 
bargainin;jj,  when  a  quick  exchunation  j^reeled  tlieni  from  a 
lady  on   horse'  accomjianied    b\    liie    Chevalier   I)e 

Pean.  She  dre  oridle  sharply  in  front  of  the  group,  and 
leaning  down  from  her  saddle  gave  her  hand  to  the  ladies, 
bidding  them  good  morning  in  a  cheery  voice  which  there 
was  no  mistaking,  although  her  face  was  invisible  behind 
her  veil.  It  was  Angelitjue  Des  Meloises,  more  gay  and 
more  fascinating  than  ever. 

She  noticed  two  gentlemen  in  the  group.  **  O  pardon 
me,  Messieurs  Le  Mercier  and  D'Kslebe  !  "  said  she,  "  I  did 
not  perceive  you.  My  veil  is  so  in  tiie  way  !  "  She  puslied 
it  aside  coquetlishly  and  gave  a  finger  to  each  of  the 
gentlemen,  who  returned  her  greeting  with  extreme  polite- 
ness. 

"Good  morpMig !  say  you,  Angdlique,"  exclaimed 
Mademoiselle  '  ert,  "  It  is  a  good  noon.  You  have 
slept  rarely  !    F  right  and  fresh  you  look,  darling!  " 

"  Do  1  not!  "  laughed  Angelique  in  reply.  "  It  is  the 
morning  air  and  a  good  conscience  make  it  !  Are  you 
buying  flowers  ?  I  have  been  to  Sillery  for  mine  !  "  said 
she,  patting  her  blooming  cheeks  with  the  end  of  her 
riding  whip.  She  had  no  time  for  further  parley,  for  her 
attention  was  suddenly  directed  by  l)e  Pean  to  some  stir 
upon  the  other  side  of  the  market,  with  an  invitation  to  her 
to  ride  over  and  see  what  was  the  matter.  Ange'lique  at 
once  wheeled  her  horse  to  accompany  De  Pean. 

The  group  of  girls  felt  themselves  eclipsed  and  over- 
borne by  the  queenly  airs  of  Angelique,  and  were  glad 
when  she  moved  off,  fearing  that  bv  some  adroit  man- 
CEUvre  she  would  carry  off  their  cavaliers.  It  needed  but 
a  word,  as  they  knew,  to  draw  them  all  after  her  ! 

Angelique,  under  the  lead  of  De  Pean,  rode  quickly 
tcv..,^ds  the  scene  of  confusion,  where  men  were  gesticula- 
ting fiercely  and  uttering  loud  angry  words,  such  as  usually 
precede  the  drawing  of  swords  and  the  rush  of  combatants. 

To  her  suprise,  she  recognized  Le  Gardeur  De  Repen- 
tigny,  very  drunk,  and  wild  with  anger,  in  the  act  of  leap- 
ing off  his  horse  with  oaths  of  vengeance  against  some  one 
whom  she  could  not  distinguish  in  the  throng. 


*' BLESSED  T/fEV  WHO  DIEr  ETC. 


609 


mts. 
[pen- 
jeap- 

one 


LeGiirdeur  had  just  risen  from  the  {jamiji;*  table  where 
he  had  been  playin;;  all  iiisj^ht.  He  wns  nialdciied  with 
drink  and  excited  by  j^reai  Idsscs,  which  in  his  ra^e 
he  called   unfair. 

"Colonel  St.  Rend  lud  rooked  him  al  IMquel,"  ho  said, 
"and  refused  him  tlie  ciiance  of  an  honorable  ;;an»esiLr  to 
win  back  some  part  of  iiis  losses.  His  anta^jonist  had  left 
the  Palace  like  a  sneak  !  and  he  was  ridinjj;  round  the  city 
to  find  him  and  horsewhij)  him  if  he  would  noi  h;;lu  like  a 
gentleman  I  " 

L'i  Gardeur  was  accompanied  by  the  Sieur  de  Lantaa;- 
nac  who,  by  sj)lendid  dissipation,  had  won  his  whole 
confidence.  f*e  Oardeur  when  drunk  lh(Mii;ht  the  world 
did  not  contain  a  finer  fellow  than  I^antaj;nac,  whom  he 
thoroughly  despised  when  sober. 

At  a  hint  from  l)e  I'ean,  the  Sieur  de  Lanl.ignac  hid 
clung  to  Le  Gardeur  that  morning  like  his  sh.idow,  had 
drunk  with  him  again  and  again,  exciting  his  wrath  against 
St.  Remi  ;  but  appar».*ntly  keeping  his  own  head  clear 
enough  for  whatever  mischief  De  I'ean  had  put  into  it. 

They  rode  together  to  the  market  place,  hearing  that 
St.  Remi  was  at  the  serrion.  Their  obje(  I,  as  Le  (Jardeur 
believed,  was  to  put  an  unpardonable  insult  upon  St.  Renji, 
by  striking  him  with  his  whip,  and  forcing  him  to  tight 
a  duel  with  Le  Gardeur  or  his  friend.  The  reckless 
De  Lantagnac  asserted  hnidlv  "he  did  not  care  a  straw 
which  !  " 

Le  Gardeur  and  De  Lantagnac  rode  furiously  through 
the  market,  heedless  of  what  they  encountered  or  whom 
they  ran  over,  and  were  followed  by  a  yell  of  imlignaiion 
from  the  people  who  recognized  them  as  gentlemen  of  the 
Grand  Co-npany. 

It  chanced  that  at  that  moment  a  poor  almsman  of  tiie 
Bourgeois  Philibert  was  humbly  and  quietly  leaning  on  his 
crutches,  listening  with  bowing  head  and  smiling  lips, 
to  the  kind  inquiries  of  his  benefactor,  as  he  received  his 
accustomed  alms. 

De  Lantagnac  rode  up  furiously,  followed  by  Le 
Gardeur.  De  Lantagnac  recognized  the  liourgeois,  who 
stood  in  His  way,  talking  to  the  crippled  soldier.  He 
cursed  him  between  his  teeth  and  lashed  his  horse  with 
intent  to  ride  h:m  down,  as  if  by  accident. 

The  Bourgeois  saw  them  approach  and  r  iotioned  them 

39 


i 


6io 


T//E  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


to  Stop,  but  in  vain.  The  horse  of  De  Lantagnac  just 
swerved  in  its  course,  and  without  checking  his  speed,  ran 
over  the  crippled  man,  v/ho  instantly  rolled  in  the  dust, 
his  face  streaming  witii  blood,  from  a  sharp  stroke  of  the 
horse's  shoe  upon  his  forehead. 

Immediately  following  De  Lantagnac,  came  Le  Gar- 
deur,  lashing  his  horse  and  yelling  like  a  dem.on  to  all  to 
clear  the  wav  ! 

The  ]iourgeois  was  startled  at  this  new  danger,  not  to 
himself — he  thought  not  of  himself — but  to  the  bleeding 
man  lying  j^rostrate  ipon  the  ground.  He  sprang  forward 
to  prevent  Le  Gardeur's  horse  going  over  him. 

He  did  not,  in  the  haste  and  confusion  of  the  moment, 
recognize  Le  Gaidcur,  who  inflamed  with  wine  and  frantic 
with  passion,  was  almost  past  recogi  ition  by  any  who  knew 
him  in  his  normal  state.  Nor  did  Le  Gardeur  in  his  frenzy, 
recognize  the  presence  of  the  Bourgeois,  whose  voice  call- 
ing him  by  name,  with  an  appeal  to  his  better  nature, 
would  undoubtedlv  have  checked  his  headlonjr  career. 

But  it  was  not  to  be  !  the  terrible  game  of  life,  where 
each  man  is  likv;  a  pawn  on  the  world's  chess-board, 
the  game  played  by  the  spirits  of  good  and  evil,  was 
played  to-day  for  the  life  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert, 
and    the  good  lost  and    the  evil  won ! 

The  moment  was  critical.  It  was  one  of  those  points 
of  time  where  the  threads  of  many  lives  and  many  des- 
tinies cross  and  intersect  each  other,  and  thence  part 
different  ways,  leading  to  life  or  death,  happiness  or 
despair  for  ever ! 

Le  Gardeur  spurred  his  horse  madly  over  the  wounded 
man,  who  lay  upon  the  ground  ;  but  he  did  not  hear  him, 
he  did  not  see  him  !  Let  it  be  said  for  Le  Gardeur^ 
if  aught  can  be  said  in  his  defense,  he  did  not  see  him. 
His  horse  was  just  about  to  trample  upon  the  prostrate 
cripple  lying  in  the  dust,  when  his  bridle  was  suddenly 
and  firmly  seized  by  the  hand  of  the  Bourgeois,  and 
his  horse  whetled  round  with  such  violence,  tha>  rearing 
back  upon  his  haunches,  he  almost  threw  his  rider  head- 
long. 

Le  Gardeur,  not  knowing  the  reason  of  this  sudden 
interference,  and  flaming  with  wrath,  leaped  to  the  ground 
just  at  the  moment  when  Angelique  and  De  Pean  rode  up. 
Le  Gardeur  neither  knew  nor  cared  at  that  moment  who 


BLESSED  THEY  WHO  DIE;'  ETC. 


6lX 


inrled 
hi  in, 

jdeur^ 
him. 

,trate 

flenly 

and 

iring 

bead- 

iddcn 
lound 
|e  up. 
who 


his  antapjonist  was  ;  he  saw  but  a  bold  presumptuous  man 
who  had  seized  his  bridle;  and  whoni  it  was  his  desire  to 
punish  on  t!ie  spot. 

De  Pean  recoirnizcd  the  stately  fiirure  and  fearless  look 
of  the  ]5our<j^eois,  confronting;  Le  (jardeur.  The  triumph 
of  the  P'riponne  was  at  hand.  De  Pean  rubbed  his  hands 
with  ecstasy  as  lie  called  out  to  Le  Oardeur,  his  voice  ring- 
ing above  the  din  of  the  crowd,  ^' Achcvcz-le  ■  P'inish  him  ! 
Le  G -.rdeur  !  " 

Angelique  sat  upon  her  horse  fixed  as  a  statue  and 
as  pale  as  marble,  not  at  the  clanger  of  the  Pourgeois, 
whom  she  at  once  recognized,  but  out  of  fear  for  her  lover, 
exposed  to  the  menaces  of  the  crowd,  who  were  all  on  the 
side  of  the  Pourgeois.  The  flash  and  suddenness  of  the 
catastrophe  came  and  went,  leaving  its  irreparable  train  of 
ruin  behind  it.  Like  a  thunderbolt  that  splits  the  wall  of 
a  palace,  and  strikes  the  king  in  the  midst  of  his  honors  ; 
so  the  Pourgeois  was  stricken  in  the  midst  of  his  good 
works  ! 

Le  Gardeur  leaped  down  from  his  horse  and  advanced 
with  a  terrible  imprecation  upon  the  Pourgeois,  and  struck 
him  with  his  whip.  The  brave  old  merchant  had  the  soul 
of  a  marshal  of  France.  His  blood  boiled  at  the  insult, 
he  raised  his  staff  to  ward  off  a  second  blow,  and  struck 
Le  Gardeur  sharply  upon  the  wrist,  making  his  whip  fly 
out  of  his  hand.  Le  Gardeur  instantly  advanced  again 
upon  him,  but  was  pressed  back  by  the  /labiinns,  who 
rushed  to  the  defence  of  the  Pourgeois.  Then  came  the 
tempter  to  his  ear,  a  word  or  two!  and  the  fate  of  many 
innocent  lives  was  decided  in  a  moment  ! 

Le  Gardeur  suddenly  felt  a  hand  laid  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  heard  a  voice,  a  woman's  voice,  speakirig  to  him  in 
passionate  tones. 

Ange'lique  had  forced  her  horse  into  the  thick  of  the 
crowd.  She  was  no  longer  calm  nor  pale  with  apprehen- 
sion, but  her  face  was  flushed  redder  than  fire,  and  her  eyes, 
those  magnetic  orbs,  which  drove  men  mad,  blazed  upon  Le 
Gardeur  with  all  their  terrible  influence.  She  had  seen 
him  struck  by  the  Pourgeois,  and  her  anger  was  equal  to 
his  own. 

De  Pean  saw  the  opportunity. 

*'  Angelique,"  exclaimed  he  "  the  Pourgeois  strikes  Le 
Gardeur  !  What  an  outrage  !  Can  you  bear  it  ?  " 


I 


6l2 


THE  crrrE.v  lyoR. 


*'  Never  !  "  replied  she,  '*  neither  shall  Le  Gardeur  !" 

With  a  plmi2;e  of  her  horse,  she  forced  her  way  close  to 
Le  Gardeur,  and  leaninj;'  over  him,  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  chokini;  with  jiassion — 

'■''  Commoif,  Le  GardiUr !  tons  sonffrcz  quun  Alahni 
comtnr  fa  vous  alnmc  dc  rou/'s^  ef  tous  portrz  /V'/r^'/" 

"  What,  Le  Gardeur !  you  allow  a  ruffian  like  that  to  load 
you  with  blows,  and  you  wear  a  sword  ?  " 

It  was  enoui^h  I  that  look,  that  word,  would  have  made 
Le  Gardeur  slau^iitcr  his  father  at  that  moment ! 

Astonished  at  the  sight  of  An<;eli([ue,  and  maddened  by 
her  words  as  much  as  by  the  blow  he  had  received,  Le 
Garden,  swore  he  would  have  revenj^e  upon  the  spot. 
With  a  wild  crv,  and  the  streniijth  and  ai^ility  of  a  jianther, 
he  twisted  himself  out  of  the  i^rasp  of  the  liabitana^  and 
drawing;  his  sword,  before  any  man  could  stop  him,  thrust 
it  to  the  hilt  throujj^h  the  body  of  the  Hour<;eois,  who,  not 
expectiuL:;  this  sudden  assault,  had  not  put  himself  in  an 
attitude  of  defense  to  meet  it. 

The  l^oursieois  fell  dvinsr  bv  the  side  of  the  bleedins: 
man  who  had  just  received  his  alms,  and  in  whose  protec- 
tion he  had  thus  risked  and  lost  h!s  own  life. 

"  liravo,  Le  Gardeur!  "  exclaimed  I)e  Pean,  "  that  was 
the  best  stroke  ever  <;iven  in  New  France  !  The  Golden 
Dojj  is  done  for,  and  the  Bourgeois  has  paid  his  debt  to 
the  Grand  Company  !  " 

"  Le  Gardeur  looked  up  wildly.  "  WMio  is  he,  De  Pean  ?" 
exclaimed  he.     "  What  man  ha\e  I  killed  ?  " 

'•The  Bourgeois  Piiilibert,  who  else!"  shouted  De 
Pean,  with  a  tone  of  exultation. 

Le  Gardeur  uttered  a  wailing  cry,  "  The  Bourgeois  Piiil- 
ibert !  have  I  slain  the  Bourgeois  l^hilibert?  De  Pean  lies. 
Angel ique  !  "  said  he,  suddenly  turning  to  her.  "  I  would 
not  kill  a  sparrow  belonging  to  the  Bourgeois  Philibert !  O 
tell  me  De  Pean  lies!  " 

"  De  Pean  does  not  lie,  Le  Gardeur,"  answered  she, 
frightened  at  his  look.  "  The  Bourgeois  struck  you  first  ! 
I  saw  him  strike  you  first  with  his  staff.  You  are  a  gentle- 
man, and  would  kill  the  king  if  he  struck  you  like  a  dog 
with  his  staff.  Look  where  they  are  lifting  him  up.  You 
see  it  is  the  Bourgeois,  and  no  other." 

Le  Gardeur  gave  one  wild  look  and  recognized  the  well- 
known  form  and  features  of  the  Bourgeois.     He  threw  his 


"  BLESSED   THE  Y  WHO  DIE;'  E  TC. 


613 


3" 


ul- 

)uld 
(3 

she, 

I  lie- 
dog 


'Oll- 

his 


sword  on  the  jrround,  exclaiming,  "  Oh  !  oh  !  uniiapjjy  man 
that  I  am!  It  is  parricide!  parricide!  to  have  slain  the 
father  of  my  l)rother  Pierre  !  Oh  !  Angeli(|ue  des  Meloiscs  ! 
you  made  me  draw  my  sword,  and  1  knew  not  who  it  was 
or  what  I  did  !" 

"  I  told  you,  Le  Gardeur,  and  you  are  angry  witli  me. 
But  see  !  hark  I  what  a  tumult  is  gathering  ;  we  nnist  get 
out  of  this  throng,  or  we  shall  all  he  killed  as  well  as  the 
Bourgeois  !     Fly,  Le  Gardeur,  fly  !     Go  to  the  Palace  !  " 

"  To  hell  sooner  ;  never  shall  the  Palace  see  me  again  !  " 
exclaimed  he  madly.  "The  people  shall  kill  me  if  they  will, 
but  save  yourself,  Angelicjue  !  Do  Pein,  lead  her  instantly 
away  from  this  cursed  spot,  or  all  the  blood  is  not  spilt  that 
will  be  spilt  to-day.  This  is  of  your  contriving,  l)e  Pean !  " 
cried  he,  looking  savagely,  as  if  about  to  spring  upon  him. 

"  Vou  would  not  harm  me  or  her,  Le  Gardeur.^"  inter- 
rupted De  I'ean,  turning  pale  at  his  fierce  look. 

"  Harm  her!  you  fool,  no!  but  1  will  harm  you  if  you 
do  not  instantlv  take  her  awav  out  of  this  tunuilt.  I  must 
see  the  Bourgeois.     Oh,  God  !  if  he  be  dead  !" 

A  great  cry  now  ran  tinough  the  market  jilace,  "The 
Bourgeois  is  killed!  Tiie  Grand  Gompany  have  assas- 
sinated the  liourgeois  !  ''  Men  ran  up  from  every  side, 
shouting  and  gesticulating.  The  news  s|)read  like  wild- 
fire throujih  the  citv,  and  sinuiltani;ouslv  a  veil  for  ven- 
geance  rose  from  the  exciterl  multitude. 

The  Recollet  Pirolhcr  Daniel  had  been  the  lirst  to  fly  to 
the  hel|)  of  the  Bourgeoi  s.  His  grey  robe  presently  was  dyed 
red  with  the  blood  of  the  best  friend  and  protector  of  their 
monastery.  Put  death  was  too  (|nick  for  even  one  prayer 
to  be  heard  or  uttered  by  the  dying  man. 

The  grey  brother  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  upon  the 
forehead  of  the  Bourgeois,  who  opened  his  eyes  once,  for  a 
moment,  and  looked  in  the  face  of  the  good  friar,  while  his 
lips  quivered  with  two  inarticulate  words  —  "  Pierre  I 
Amelie  !  "  That  was  all  !  liis  brave  eves  closed  asiain  for- 
ever  from  the  light  of  the  sun.  The  good  Bourgeois  IMiil- 
ibert  was  dead  !  *"  Blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the 
Lord,"  repeated  the  Recollet.  "  Kven  so,  says  the  Spirit, 
for  they  rest  from  their  labors  !  " 

De  Pean  had  foreseen  the  likelihood  of  a  popular  com- 
motion. He  was  ready  to  Hy  on  the  instant,  but  could  not 
prevail  on  Angc^lique  to  leave  Le  Gardeur,  who  wasi  kneel- 


y  i\ 


u 


Is   V 


t 

I 


r 

^^H 

i 

1 

1    1 

1 

1 

1 

1 

: 

'1' 

J 

1 

.1 

1 

li 

614 


T//E  CHI  EN  nOR. 


injr  clown  by  the  side  of  the  Bourgeois,  lifting  him  in  hiS' 
arms  and  uttering  the  wildest  accents  of  grief  as  he  gazed 
upon  the  pallid,  innnovable  face  of  the  friend  of  his  youth. 

"  That  is  the  assassin  !  and  the  woman,  too  !  "  cried  a 
sturdy  habitan.  "  I  heard  her  bid  him  draw  his  sword 
upon  the  Bourafeois  !  " 

The  crowd  for  the  moment  believed  that  De  Pean  had 
been  the  murderer  of  I'hilibert. 

"No,  not  he!  It  was  the  other!  It  was  the  officer 
who  dismounted  !  The  drunken  officer !  Who  was  he  ? 
Where  is  he  ?"  cried  the  habitan,  forcing  his  way  into  the 
presence  of  Le  Gardeur,  who  was  still  kneeling  by  the  side 
of  the  I'ourgeois,  and  was  not  seen  for  a  few  moments,  but 
quickly  he  was  identified. 

"  That  is  he  !  "  cried  a  dozen  voices.  "  He  is  looking  if 
he  has  killed  him  !  By  God  !  " 

A  number  of  men  rushed  upon  Le  Gardeur,  who  made 
no  defense,  but  continued  kneeling  beside  the  Recollet 
Brother  Daniel,  over  the  body  of  the  Bourgeois.  He  was 
instantlv  seized  bv  some  of  the  crowd.  He  held  out  his 
hands  and  bade  them  "  take  him  prisoner,  or  kill  him  on 
the  spot,  if  t'icy  would,  for  it  was  he  who  had  killed  the 
Bourgeois  !  " 

Half-a-dozen  swords  were  instantly  drawn  as  if  to  take 
him  at  his  word,  when  the  terrible  shrieks  of  Angelique 
pierced  every  ear.  The  crowd  turned  in  astonishment  to 
see  who  it  was  on  horseback  that  cried  so  terribly  :  "  Do 
not  kill  him!  Do  not  kill  Le  Gardeur  De  Repentigny  !  " 
She  called  several  citizens  by  name  and  entreated  them  to 
help  to  save  him. 

By  her  sudden  interference,  Angelique  caused  a  diver- 
sion in  the  crowd.  Le  (iardcur  rose  up  to  his  feet,  and  many 
persons  recognized  him  with  astonislnnent  antl  incredulity, 
for  no  one  could  believe  that  he  had  killed  the  good  Bour- 
geois, who  was  known  to  have  been  the  warm  friend  of  the 
whole  family  of  De  Repentigny. 

De  Pean,  taking  achantage  of  the  sudden  shift  of  feel- 
ing in  the  crowd,  and  anxious  for  the  safety  of  Angelique, 
seized  the  bridle  of  her  horse  to  drag  her  forcibly  out  of 
the  press,  telling  her  that  her  words  had  been  heard,  and 
in  another  instant  the  whole  mob  would  turn  its  fury  upon 
her,  and  in  order  to  save  her  life  she  nuist  fly. 

"  I  will  not  fly,  De  Pean  I     You  may  fly  yourself,  for 


ii 


"BLESSED  THEY  WHO  DIET  ETC. 


6iS 


him  in  his 
i  he  gazed 
his  youth. 
!  "  cried  a 
his  sword 

Pean  had 

the  officer 
)  was  lie  ? 
ly  into  the 
jy  the  side 
ments,  but 


looking  if 


who  made 
I  Recollet 
He  was 
L^ld  out  his 
ill  him  on 
killed  tiie 

if  to  take 

Angelique 

hnient  to 

ly  :   "  Do 

jntigny  ! " 

them  to 

a  diver- 
and  many 
redulity, 
)d  Bour- 
ne! of  the 


()( 


Ft  of  feel- 
LUgelique, 
blv  out  of 
eard,  and 
:ury  upon 

urself,  for 


you  are  a  coward  !     They  are  going  to  kill  Le  Gardeur,  and 
1  will  not  forsake  him  I  They  shall  kill  me  first !  " 

''  But  vou  must  !  You  shall  Hv  !  Hark  !  Le  Gardeur 
is  safe  for  the  present.  Wheel  your  horse  rounfl,  and  you 
will  see  hi.n  standing  up  yonder  quite  safe  !  The  crowd 
rather  believe  it  was  I  who  killed  the  Bourgeois,  and  not 
Le  Gardeur  !  1  have  a  soul  and  body  to  be  saved  as  well 
as  he !  " 

'*  Curse  you,  soul  and  body,  De  Pean  !  You  made  me 
doit.  You  put  those  hellish  wjrds  in  my  moulh  !  I  will 
not  go  until  I  see  Le  Gardeur  safe!  " 

Angelique  endea\'ored  franlicaliy  to  approach  Le  Gard- 
eur and  could  not,  but  as  she  looked  over  the  surging 
heads  of  the  people  she  could  see  Le  Gardeur  standing  up, 
surrounded  by  a  ring  of  agitated  men  who  did  not  appear, 
however.lo  threaten  him  with  anv  iniurv — nav,  looked  at  him 
more  with  wonder  and  jjity  than  with  menace  of  injury. 

He  was  a  prisoner,  but  Angolique  did  not  know  it  or  she 
would  not  have  left  him.  As  it  was,  urged  by  tlie  most 
vehement  objurgations  of  De  PeiMi,  and  seeing  a  portion  of 
the  crowd  tuining  their  furious  looks  towards  herself 
as  she  sal  upon  her  horse,  unable  either  t(3  go  or  stay,  De 
Pean  sudlcidy  seizeil  her  rein  and  spurring  his  own  horse, 
dragged  her  furiously  in  spite  of  herself  out  of  the  tumult. 
Tliev  rode  headlon>x  to  the  Casernes  of  the  Regiment  of 
Beam,  where  tliev  took  refuge  for  the  moment  from  the 
execrations  of  the  jjopulace. 

The  hapless  Le  Gardeur  became  suddenly  sobered  and 
conscious  of  the  enormity  of  his  act.  He  called  m  idly  for 
death  from  the  ra<j^iiitr  crowd.  He  held  out  his  hands  iox 
chains  to  bind  a  murderer,  as  he  called  himself  !  But  no 
one  would  strike  him  or  offer  to  bind  him.  Tlie  wrath  of 
the  people  was  so  mingled  with  blank  astonish uunt  at  his 
demeanor,  his  grief  and  his  despair  were  so  evidently 
genuine  and  so  deep,  that  many  said  he  was  mad,  and 
more  an  object  of  pity  than  of  punishment. 

At  his  own  reiterated  command  he  was  given  over  to 
the  hands  of  some  soldiers,  and  led  off,  followed  by  a  great 
crowd  of  people,  to  the  main  guard  of  the  Castle  of 
St.  Louis,  where  he  was  left  a  prisoner,  while  another 
portion  of  the  multitude  gathered  about  the  scene  of  the 
tragedy,  surrounded  the  body  of  the  Bourgeois,  which  was. 
hfled   off  the  triOLhid    an.l    bj.iie  aloft   on  men's   should-. 


6i6 


THE  CfTIEiV  nOR. 


ers,  followed  by  wild  cries  and  lamentations,  to  the  house 
of  the  Golden  Doi;, — the  house  which  he  had  left  but 
half  an  hour  before,  full  of  life,  vi<2;or  and  humanity,  look- 
ing before  and  after  as  a  strong  man  looks  who  has  done 
his  duty,  and  who  feels  still  able  to  take  the  world 
upon  his  shoulders  and  carry  it — if  need  were. 

The  sad  procession  moved  slowly  on  amid  the  pressing 
agitated  crowd,  which  asked  and  answered  a  hundred 
eager  questions  in  a  breath.  The  two  poor  Recollet 
brothers,  Daniel  and  Ainbrf)se,  walked  side  by  side  before 
the  bleeding  corpse  of  their  friend,  and  stirted  their  emotions 
by  singing  in  a  broken  voice,  that  few  heard  but  tiiemselves, 
the  words  of  the  so  itary  hymn  of  St.  Francis  d'Assisi,  the 
founder  of  their  order  : — 

"  Praised  be  tlie  Lord  !  by  our  sweet  sister,  Death ! 

From  whom  no  man  escapes,  iiowe'cr  he  try — 

Woe  to  all  those  who  yield  their  partint;  breath 

In  mortal  sin  I   But  blessed  those  who  die, 

Doing  thy  will  in  that  decisive  hour! 

The  second  death  o'er  such  shall  have  no  power  ! 
I'raise,  blessint;  and  thanksgiving  to  my  Lord, 
For  all  He  gives  and  takes  be  lie  adored  ! " 

Dame  Rochelle  heard  the  approaching  noise  and  tumult. 
She  looked  out  of  the  window  and  could  see  the  edjre 
of  the  crowd  in  the  market  place  tossing  to  and  fro, 
like  breakers  upon  a  rocky  shore.  The  people  in  the 
streets  were  hurrying  towards  the  m  irket.  Swarms  of 
men  employed  in  the  magazines  of  tiie  Bourgeois  were 
running  out  of  the  edifice  towards  the  same  spot. 

The  dame  divined  at  once  that  something  had  happened 
to  her  master.  She  uttered  a  fervent  prayer  for  his  safety. 
The  noise  grew  greater,  and  as  she  reached  out  of  the 
window  to  demand  of  passers,  by  what  was  the  matter, 
a  voice  shouted  up  that  the  Bourgeois  was  dead  !  that 
he  had  been  killed  by  the  Grand  Company,  and  they  were 
bringing  him  home  !  " 

'I'he  voice  passed  on,  and  no  one  but  G-i  1  heeded 
the  long  wail  of  grief  that  rose  from  the  good  dune  as  she 
fell  upon  her  knees  in  the  doorway,  unable  to  proceed 
further.     She  preserved  her  consciousness,  however. 

The  crowd  now  swarmed  in  the  streets  about  the  doors 
of  the  house.  Presently  were  heard  the  shuffling  steps  of 
a  number  of   met)    in    the  great    hall,  bearing   the  body 


8)  til 


''BLESSED  THEY  WHO  DIE;'  ETC. 


617 


look- 


edge 
d  fro, 
the 
rms  of 
were 

)ened 
;ifety. 
of  the 
natter, 
that 
y  were 


doors 

eps  of 

body 


of  the  Bourgeois  into  the  large  room,  where  the  sunshine 
was  playing  so  gloriously.  ~ 

'I'he  crowd,  impelled  by  a  feeling  of  reverence,  stood 
back  ;  only  a  few  ventured  to  come  into  the  house. 

The  rough  habitans  who  brought  him  in  laid  him  upon 
a  couch  and  gazed  for  some  moments  in  silent  awe  upon 
the  noble  features  so  pale  and  placid  which  now  lay 
motionless  before  them. 

Here  was  a  man  tit  to  rule  an  empire,  and  who  did  rule 
the  half  of  New  France  !  who  was  no  more  now,  save 
in  the  love  and  gratitude  of  the  people,  than  the  poorest 
piece  of  human  clay  in  the  potter's  field  !  The  great 
leveller  had  passed  his  rule  over  him  as  he  passes  it 
over  every  one  of  us.  The  dead  lion  was  less  now 
than  the  living  dog,  and  the  Golden  Dog  itself  was 
henceforth  only  a  memr)ry,  and  an  epitaph  forever  of 
the  tragedv  of  this  eventful  dav  ! 

"()  mv  master!  Mv  good  noble  master!"  exclaimed 
Dame  Rochelle,  as  she  roused  herself  up  and  rushed 
to  the  chamber  of  the  dead.  "  Your  implacable  enemies 
ha\e  killed  you  at  last!  I  knew  it!  O!  I  knew  that 
your  precious  life  would  one  day  pay  the  penalty  of  your 
truth  and  justice  !  And  Pierre  !  O  where  is  he  on  this  day 
of  all  days  of  grief  and  sorrow  .-'  " 

She  wrung  her  hands  at  the  thought  of  Pierre's  absence 
to-day,  and  what  a  welcome  home  awaited  him  ! 

The  noise  and  tumult  in  the  street  continued  to 
increase.  The  friends  of  the  Hourgeois  poured  into  the 
house,  among  tliem  the  (Governor  and  La  Corne  St.  Luc, 
who  came  with  anxious  looks  and  hasty  steps  to  inquire 
into  the  details  of  the  murder. 

The  Governor,  after  a  short  consultation  with  La  Corne 
St.  Luc,  who  hijipened  to  be  at  the  castle,  fearing  a  riot 
and  an  attack  upon  the  magazines  of  the  Grand  Com- 
pany, ordered  the  troops  immediately  under  arms,  and 
despatched  strong  detachments  under  the  command  of 
careful  and  trusty  officers  to  the  palace  of  the  Intendant, 
and  the  great  warehouse  of  the  Friponne,  and  also  into  the 
market  place,  and  to  the  residence  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly, 
not  knowing  in  what  direction  the  fury  of  the  populace 
might  direct  itself. 

'I'he  orders  were  carried  out  in  a  few  minutes  without 
noise  or  confusion.     The  Count,  with  La  Corne  St.  Luc, 


t 


6i$ 


TIIR  CirrEN  D'OR. 


whose  countenance  bore  a  concentration  of  sorrow  and 
anj^er  wonderful  to  see,  hastened  down  to  the  house  of 
mourning.  Chuide  IJeauharnois  and  Kij^aud  de  Vaudreuil 
followed  hastily  after  them.  They  pushed  throujjjh  the 
crowd  tliat  filled  the  Rue  liuade,  and  the  people  took  oil 
their  hats,  while  the  air  resounded  with  denunciations  of 
the  Friponne,  and  appeals  for  vengeance  upon  the  assassin 
of  the  Bourgeois. 

The  Governor  and  his  companions  were  moved  to  tears 
at  the  sight  of  their  murdered  friL-nd  Ivini^  in  his 
bloody  vesture,  which  was  open  to  enable  the  worthy 
Doctor  Gauthier,  who  had  run  in  all  haste,  to  examine  the 
still  oozing  wound.  The  Recollet  Brother  Daniel  still 
knelt  in  silent  prayer  at  his  feet,  while  Dame  Rochelle, 
with  trembling  hands,  arranged  the  drapery  decently 
over  her  dead  master,  repeating  to  herself : — 

"  It  is  the  end  of  trouble  !  and  God  has  mercifully  taken 
him  away  before  he  empties  the  vials  of  his  wrath 
upon  this  New  France,  and  gives  it  up  for  a  possession  to 
our  enemies!  What  says  the  prophet.-'  'The  righteous 
perisheth  and  no  man  layeth  it  to  heart,  and  merciful  men 
are  taken  away,  none  considering  that  the  righteous 
are  taken  awav  from  the  evil  to  come  ! '  " 

The  very  heart  of  La  Corne  St.  Luc  seemed  bursting 
in  his  bosom,  and  he  choked  with  agony  as  he  placed  his 
hand  upon  the  forehead  of  his  friend,  and  reflected  that 
the  good  Bourgeois  had  fallen  by  the  sw(jrd  of  his  godson, 
the  Old  m  in's  pride — Le  Girdeur  de  Repentigny  ! 

"  Had  death  come  to  him  on  the  broid  common  road 
of  mortality — had  he  died  like  a  soldier  on  the  battle  field," 
exclaimed  La  CJorne,  "  1  would  have  had  no  spite  at  Fate. 
But  to  be  stabb  d  in  the  midst  of  his  good  deeds  of  alms, 
and  by  \.\vt  hand  of  one  whom  he  loved.  Ves  !  by  God  ! 
I  will  say  it!  and  by  one  who  loved  him!  Oh!  it  is 
terrible.  Count  !  Terrible  and  shameful  to  me  as  if  it  had 
been  the  deed  of  my  own  son  !  " 

"  La  Corne  !  I  feel  with  you  the  grief  and  shame  of  such 
a  tragedv!  But  there  is  a  fearful  mvstery  in  this  thing 
which  we  cannot  yet  unravel.  They  say  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Pean  dropped  an  expression  that  sounded  like 
a  plot  !  I  cannot  think  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  would, 
deliberatelv  and  with  f  j.etliought  have  killed  the  Bour- 
g^eois  ! 


"BLESSED  THEY  IVflO  DIE,''  ETC. 


619 


>uch 

111  IT' 

leva- 

llike 
)iild. 
lour- 


**On  my  life  he  never  would  !  He  respected  the  Bour- 
geois, nay  loved  him,  for  the  sake  of  Pierre  Philibert. 
as  well  for  his  own  sake  !  Terrible  as  is  his  crime  he  never 
committed  it  out  of  malice  afore t h( )Uij;h t !  He  has  been 
himself  the  victim  of  some  hellish  plot — for  a  plot 
there  has  been  !  This  has  been  no  ciiaiice  medley,  Count!  " 
exclaimed  La  C'orne  St.  Luc  impetuously. 

"  It  looks  like  chance  medley,  but  I  suspect  more  than 
appears  on  the  surface,"  replied  the  (iovernor.  "  The 
removal  of  the  Bourgeois  decapitates  the  party  of  the 
Honnctes  Gens — does  it  not  ? ' 

"Gospel  is  not  more  true  !  The  Bourgeois  was  the  only 
merchant  in  New  France  capable  of  meeting  their  mon- 
opoly and  fighting  them  with  their  own  weapons.  Bigot 
and  the  Grand  Company  will  have  everything  their  own 
way  now." 

"  Besides  there  was  the  old  feud  of  the  Golden  Dog," 
continued  the  Governor,  "  Bigot  took  its  allusion  to  the 
Cardinal  as  a  personal  insult  to  himself.  Did  he  not,  La 
Corne  ?  " 

^'  Yes  ;  and  Bigot  knew  he  deserved  it  equally  with  His 
Eminence,  whose  arch-tool  he  had  been,"  replied  La  Corne. 
"  By  God  !  1  believe  Bigot  has  been  at  the  bottom  of  this 
plot.      It  would  be  worthy  of  his  craft." 

"  These  are  points  to  be  considered,  La  Corne.  But 
such  is  the  secresy  of  these  men's  councils  that  I  doubt 
we  may  suspect  more  than  we  shall  ever  be  able  to 
prove."     The  Governor  looked  much  agitated. 

"  WHiat  amazes  me.  Count,  is  not  that  the  thing  should 
be  done,  but  that  Le  Gardeur  should  have  dc^neit!" 
exclaimed  La  Corne,  with  a  puzzled  expression. 

"  That  is  the  strangest  circumstance  of  all.  La  Corne," 
observed  the  Governor.  "  The  same  thought  has  struck 
me.  But  he  was  mad  with  wine,  they  say  ;  and  men  who 
upset  their  reason  do  not  seldom  reverse  their  conduct 
towards  their  friends  ;  they  are  often  crudest  to  those 
whom  they  love  best." 

"  I  will  not  believe  but  that  he  was  made  drunk  pur- 
posely to  commit  tliis  crime  !  "  exclaimed  La  Corne,  strik- 
ing his  hand  upon  his  thigh.  *'  Li  Gardeur  in  his  senses 
would  have  lost  his  right  hand  soop.er  than  have  raised  it 
against  the  Bourgeois  !  " 

.  ".1  feel  sure  of  it;  his  friendship  for  Pierre  Philibert, 


t 


620 


THE  cm  EN  iroR. 


to  whom  he  owed  his  life,  was  something  rarely  seen 
now-a-days,"  remarked  the  Count. 

La  Come  felt  a  relief  in  bearing  testimony  in  favor  of 
LeGardeiir.  "  They  loved  one  ancnhei  like  brothers,"  said 
he,  ''  and  more  than  brothers.  Higot  had  corrupted  the 
liabits,  but  could  never  soil  the  heart  or  lessen  the  love  of 
Le  Gardeur  for  Pierre  Philibert,  or  his  respect  for  the 
Bourgeois,  his  father." 

"It  is  a  mvsterv,  La  Corne  ;  I  cannot  fathom  it.  Rut 
there  is  one  more  danger  to  guard  against,"  said  the 
Governor  nieditativ  ely,  *'  and  we  have  sorrow  enough 
already  among  our  friends." 

"What  is  th  I.  Count?"  La  Corne  stood  up  erect  as  if 
in  mental  defiance  of  a  new  danger. 

"  Pierre  i'hilibert  will  return  home  to-night,"  replied 
the  Governor  ;  "'  he  carries  the  sh  irpest  sword  in  New 
France.  A  duel  between  him  and  Le  Gardeur  would  crown 
the  machinations  of  the  secret  plotters  in  this  murder.  He 
will  certainly  avenge  his  father's  death,  even  upon  Le 
Gardeur." 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  started  at  this  suggestion,  but  pre- 
sently shook  his  head.  "  My  life  upon  it!"  said  he,  "  _^e 
Gardeur  would  stand  up  to  receive  the  sword  of  Pierre 
through  his  heart,  but  he  would  never  fight  him  !  Besides, 
the  unhappy  boy  is  a  prisoner." 

"We  will  care  well  for  him  and  keep  him  safe.  He 
shall  have  absolute  justice.  La  Corne,  but  no  favor." 

An  officer  entered  the  room  to  report  to  the  Governor 
that  the  troops  had  reached  their  assigned  posts  and  that 
there  was  no  symptom  of  rioting  among  the  people  in  any 
quarter  of  the  city. 

'I'he  Ciovernor  was  greatly  relieved  by  these  tidings. 
"Now,  La  Corne,"  said  he,  "  we  have  done  what  is  needful 
for  the  public.  1  can  spare  you,  for  I  know  where  your 
heart  yearns  most  to  go,  to  offer  the  consolations  of  a  true 
friend." 

"  Alas,  yes,"  replied  La  Corne  sadly.  "  Men  weep 
tears  of  water,  but  women  tears  of  blood  !  What  is  our 
hardest  grief  compared  with  the  overwhelming  sorrow  and 
desolation  that  will  pass  over  my  poor  god-daughter, 
Am^lie  de  Repentigny  and  the  noble  Lady  de  Tilly  at  this 
doleful  news  ? " 

*'  Go  comfort  them,  La  Corne,  and  the  angel  of  conso- 


"BLESSED  THEY  WHO  DIE,"  ETC. 


62T 


seen 


your 
true 

I  weep 

our 

and 

jhter, 

It  this 

)nso- 


lation  go  with  you  I  "  the  Governor  shook  him  by  the  hand 
and  wished  him  (iod-speed. 

La  Corne  St.  Luc  inst;intly  left  the  house.  The  crowd 
uncovered  and  made  way  for  him  as  t'liey  would  hivi'  done 
for  the  Governor  himself,  as  with  hasty  strides  he  passed 
up  the  Rue  du  Fort  and  on  towards  the  Cape  where  stood 
the  mansion  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly. 

'*  O  Rigaud,  what  a  day  of  sorrow  this  is! ''  exclaimed 
the  Governor  to  De  Vaudreuil.  on  their  return  to  th  '  C  istle 
of  St.  Louis  ;  *'  What  a  Moody  and  disgraceful  event  tj 
record  in  the  annals  of  New  France  !  " 

"  I  would  give  half  I  have  in  the  world  could  it  be  for- 
ever blotted  out !  "  replied  De  Vaudreuil.  '*  Vour  friend, 
Herr  Kalm,  has  left  us,  fortunately,  before  he  could 
record  in  his  book,  for  all  F^urope  to  read,  that  men  are 
murdered  in  New  FVance  to  sate  the  vengeance  of  a  Royal 
Intendant  and  fill  the  purses  of  the  greatest  company  of 
thieves  that  ever  plundered  a  nation." 

"  FLirk,  Rigaud  !  do  not  say  such  things,"  interrupted 
the  Governor,  "  1  trust  it  is  not  so  bad  as  th  it ;  but  it  sh  dl 
be  seen  into,  if  I  remain  Governor  of  New  France!  'V\\q 
blood  of  the  noble  Hourgeois  shall  be  required  at  the  hands 
of  all  concerned  in  his  assassination,  i'he  blame  of  it 
shall  not  rest  wholly  n^yw  th.it  unhapjjy  L-j  Girdeur.  Wo 
will  trace  it  up  to  its  very  origin  and  fountain  head." 

"  Right,  Count  !  You  are  true  as  steel  !  B  it  mirk 
me!  if  you  begin  to  trace  this  assassination  up  to  its  origin 
and  fountain  head,  your  letters  of  recall  will  be  despatched 
by  the  first  ship  that  leaves  France  after  the  news  reaches 
Versailles  !  "  Rigaud  looked  fixedly  at  the  Count  as  he 
said  this. 

"  It  may  be  so,  Rigaud,"  replied  the  Coiuit,  sadly  ; 
**  strange  things  take  place  under  the  regime  of  the  strange 
women  who  now  rule  the  Court.  Nevertheless,  while  I  am 
here  my  whole  duly  shall  be  done.  In  this  matter  justice 
shall  be  meted  oul  with  a  firm  and  impartial  hand,  no 
matter  who  siiall  be  incriminated." 

The  Count  de  la  Galissoniere  at  once  summoned  a 
number  of  his  most  trusted  and  most  sagacious  councillors 
tojrether — the  Intendant  was  noto'ie  of  those  summoned— 
to  consider  what  steps  it  bjhooved  them  to  take  to  provide 
for  the  public  safety  and  to  ensure  the  ends  of  justice  in 
this  lamentable  tragedy. 


622 


THE  CirrEN  D'OR, 


CHAPTKR  LV. 


EVIL    NEWS    RIDES    POST. 


THE  sunbeams  never  shone  more  j^olden  throufjh  the 
casement  of  a  hadv's  bower  than  on  that  same  morn- 
inj(  of  St.  Martin's,  throu<;h  the  winchiw  of  the  chamlier  of 
Amehe  de  Repent i<;ny,  as  she  sat  in  the  midst  of  a  group 
of  younj;  ladies  holdin"^  earnest  council  over  the  dresses 
and  adornments  of  herself  and  companions  who  were  to  be 
her  bridesmaids,  on  her  marriage  with  Pierre  Philibert. 

Amelie  had  risen  from  pleasant  dreams.  The  tender 
flush  of  vesterdav's  walk  on  the  banks  of  the  Lairet  lin- 
gered  on  her  cheek  all  night  long,  like  the  rosy  tint  of  a 
midsummer's  sunset.  The  loving  words  of  Pierre  firiated 
through  her  memory  like  a  strain  of  divine  music,  with  the 
sweet  accompaniment  of  her  own  modest  confessions  of 
love,  which  she  had  so  frankly  expressed. 

How  full  and  ample  seemed  all  that  Pierre  had  said  to 
her  !  His  words  had  been  glorified  in  her  fervid  imagina- 
tion, while  she  refiected  tremulousy  over  her  own  expres- 
sions, lest  they  might  have  seemed  either  too  forward  or 
too  cold. 

A  girl  who  has  yielded  her  heart  to  a  lover  finds  it  not 
easy  to  satisfy  herself, — If  too  fond,  she  fears  he  may  de- 
spise her  ;  if  too  reserved,  he  may  doubt  her  affection.  But 
when  the  words  of  betrothal  have  been  spoken  and  its 
precious  pledges  given,  a  true  woman  is  like  Sarah  in  the 
presence  of  Abraham,  bowing  herself,  and  in  spirit  calling 
him  lord.  She  exalts  him  in  her  fancv  to  a  height  of  wor- 
thiness  that  justifies  the  worship  of  her  entire  being  ;  to 
love,  honor  and  obey,  seems  to  her  less  a  duty  than  a 
passionate  delight. 

Ame'lie's  spirits  over-flowed  with  happiness.  She  had 
dreamed  last  night  of  Pilysian  fields,  but  even  the  heavenly 
landscape  had  resembled  the  sloping  shores  of  the  Lake 
de  Tilly  or  the  winding  banks  of  the  pastoral  Lairet. 

Clothed  in  shining  robes,  with  a  garland  of  flowers 
upon  his  head,  which  she  had  placed  there  as  a  sign  that 
he  was  king  of  her  heart  and  the  ruler  of  her  destiny,  Pierre 


FA^IL  NEWS  RIDES  POST.  623 

had  seemed  to  lead  her  by  the  hand,  while  choirs  of  happy 
angels  san}^  their  inarria;^e  song  and  blesscil  iheir  union 
forever  and  ever. 

Anielie's  chamber  was  vocal  with  jj^aiety  and  laui^^hter  ; 
for  with  her  to  dav  were  the  chosen  friends  and  lifi-lontr 
companions  who  had  ever  shared  her  love  and  cont'idence. 

'rhese  were,  Hortense  Beanharnois,  happy  also  in  her 
recent  Ix^'iroihal  to  Jumonville  de  Villiers,  Ileloise  de 
Lotbiniere,  so  tenderly  attached  to  AnWlie  ai^l  whom  of 
all  her  friends  Amelie  wanted  most  to  call  by  the  name  of 
sister  ;  Ay;athe  the  fair  daiiiihter  of  I^i  Come  St.  Luc,  so 
like  her  father  in  looks  and  spirit,  and  Anielie's  cousin. 
Marguerite  de  Rei)entigny,  the  reflection  of  herself  in  fea- 
ture and  manners. 

There  was  rich  material  in  that  chamber  for  the  con- 
versation of  such  a  group  of  happy  girls.  The  bridal 
trousseau  was  spread  out  before  them,  and  upon  chairs  and 
couches  lay  dresses  of  marvellous  fabric  and  beauty, — 
muslins  and  shawls  of  India  and  Cashmere,  and  the  finest 
products  of  the  looms  of  I'Yance  and  Holland.  It  was  a 
trousseau  fit  for  a  queen  and  an  evidence  at  once  of  the 
wealth  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  and  of  her  unbounded  love  for 
her  niece,  Anjelie.  The  gifts  of  Pierre  were  not  mingled 
with  the  rest,  nor  as  yet  had  they  been  shown  to  her 
bridesmaids — Amelie  kept  them  for  a  pretty  surprise  upon 
another  day. 

Upon  the  table  stood  a  golden  casket  of  Venetian  work- 
manship— the  carvings  of  which  represented  the  marriage  at 
Cana  in  Galilee.  It  was  stored  with  priceless  jewels  wliich 
diizzled  the  sight  and  presented  a  constellation  of  starry 
gems,  the  like  of  which  had  never  been  seen  in  the  New 
World.  It  was  the  gift  of  the  lk)urgeois  IMiilibert  who  gave 
this  splendid  token  of  his  affection  and  utter  contentment 
with  Amelie,  as  the  bride  of  his  son  and  heir. 

Amelie  regarded  these  things  with  the  natural  pleasure 
of  a  pure  and  noble  girl.  She  was  a  true  woman  and  loved 
beautiful  things  simply  because  of  their  beauty,  Init  she 
valued  their  richness  only,  because  it  was  a  proof  of  the 
love  of  those  whom  she  most  valued  and  most  delightetl  to 
please. 

Without  that  ennobling  sentiment  all  the  precious  gifts 
in  the  world,  would  have  seemed  to  her  no  better  than 
dross,  and  fairy  glamour  of  sticks  and  straw. 


r-       ! 


624 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


She  was  supremely  happy,  and  gay  beyond  her  wont,  a.s 
she  sat  this  morniiij;  amidst  her  fair  companions,  dressed  in 
a  white  robe  soft  and  pure  as  a  fresh  snow  wreath.  Her 
black  tresses  drooped  carelessly  over  her  neck.  Her 
wonderful  eyes  dark  with  excessive  lii^ht,  shot  proud  and 
happy  jjjlances  at  her  companions  ;  but  their  tendere' t 
expression  was  the  inward  !oc'-  she  cast  upon  the  imigeof 
Pierre  in  her  own  heart.  Feelings  long  suppressel  were  now 
revealed,  with  shvness  indeed,  but  no  shame,  and  all  the 
world  might  know  if  it  liked  that  Amelic  had  driven  the  rich 
treasure  of  her  love  to  IMerre  Fhilibert. 

She  wore  that  day  for  her  only  ornament  agolden  cross, 
the  birthday  gift  of  Pierre,  and  a  brooch,  the  gift  of  Le  Gar- 
deur.  On  her  finger  was  a  ring,  the  pledge  of  her  betrothal, 
which  she  never  afterwards  removed  for  a  moment,  in 
all  her  subsequent  life. 

These  five  girls  equal  in  age  and  almost  in  beauty,  so 
like,  yet  so  dissimilar  had  all  been  companions  at  school, 
and  formed  together  the  fairest  circle  of  society  in  the 
Capital. 

Jn  the  ease  of  frankest  intimacy  they  met  in  the  chamber 
of  their  friend,  sitting  on  chairs  or  stools  or- kneeling  upon 
the  floor  as  chanje  or  fancv  dictated,  whi'e  thev  settled  the 
details  of  their  wedding  garments,  with  as  much  seriousness 
as  the  diplomats  at  Aix-La-Chapelle  had  recently  settled 
the  great  treaty  of  peace  for  Europe.     And  why  not  .-* 

Woman's  kingdom  comes  closer  to  the  hum  m  heart 
than  a  king's.  Her  accession  to  her  throne,  is  to  her,  and 
to  the  man  she  marries  an  event  of  more  lasting  importance 
than  any  other  revolution  in  mundane  things.  It  is  her 
prerogative  to  govern  the  household  where  a  man  lavs  up 
the  rii:hes  of  his  life.  She  is  Queen  there  wearing  the 
crown,  and  no  true  man  ever  disputes  her  right  of  ruling 
her  kingdom y/z/r  divino. 

Hortense  Beauharnois  ktielt  in  graceful  abandon  at  the 
feet  of  Ame'lie,  resting  her  arms  upon  the  lap  of  her  friend, 
holding  her  bv  the  hand  as  she  twisted  the  betrothal  rinir 
round  and  round  her  slender  finger. 

*'  We  little  thought  of  this  in  the  Convent,  at  least  you 
did  not,  Amelie  !  "  said  she  with  an  arch  look,  laying  her 
finger,  on  which  was  a  ring  given  her  by  Jumonville  de 
Villiers,  by  the  side  of  Amelie's  finger,  as  if  to  compare 
them. 


EVIL  NEWS  RIDES  POST. 


625 


up 

the 

ling 

the 
Mid, 


k'ou 

[her 

de 

lare 


"It  is  a  charming  ring  yours,  Hortense  !  and  one  which 
any  woman  might  be  proud  to  wear,*'  said  Amdlie  in  a  low 
voice  as  she  caressed  the  finger  of  her  friend. 

"I  am  proud  of  it!"  replied  Hortense  in  a  whisper. 
Except  vour  Pierre  I  know  no  gentleman  in  the  world  like 
Jumonville." 

"You  think  he  resembles  Pierre?"  said  Amelie. 

In  his  noble  ways  he  does  if  not  in  his  looks.  He  has 
not  Pierre's  stature  nor  steel  blue  Norman  eyes  ;  but  he  is  as 
handsome  in  his  own  way,  and  as  brave  and  generous. 
He  is,  I  admit  proudly,  dark  complexioned  toafuilt." 

"What  fault  Hortense  I  "  asked  Amelie,  pressing  her 
hand  and  smiling  in  sympathy  with  her  friend. 

*'  Nay,  he  has  no  fault,  unless  loving  me  so  much  be  one  ! 
Would  I  were  more  worthy  of  him  !  but  I  will  try,  to  be,  a 
good  wife  to  Jumonville.  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  a  loving 
one  !  You  too  are  proud  and  happy  to-day,  AmtMie!  " 

"Yes  I  almost  tremble  at  it"  replied  Amelie  gravely  I 
"  I  am  so  very  happy  darling,  that  I  almost  fear  it  may  be 
the  foreunner  of  some  misfortune.  But  Pierre  comes  home  to 
night  not  to  go  away  again  without  me  ;  do  you  understand  ? 
And  Le  Gardeur  has  written  me  the  kindest  letter  !  My 
brother  will  yet  be  his  own  noble  self  again  \  O  Hortense  ! 
you  cannot  comprehend  the  happiness  that  thought  brings 
me  I" 

"  Yes  I  can  imagine  it,  were  Claude  and  not  Le  Gar- 
deur the  returning  prodigal  !  Dear  Le  Gardeur  !  Shall  [  own 
to  you  Amelie.^  It  was  fortunate  that  Jumonville  returned 
when  he  did,  or  I  know  not  what  might  have  happened  to 
me !  It  might  have  been  my  lot  to  become  the  rival  of 
Heloise,  and  like  her  be  triumphed  over  by  Ange'lique!" 

"  Fortunately  you  escaped  !  "  whispered  Ame'lie.  '*  Poor 
Heloise !  she  would  have  been  comforted  somewhat  had 
you  been  her  rival  instead  of  AngcMiqiie,  for  she  loves  Le 
Gardeur  so  unsellishly  that  she  would  rejoice  in  his 
happiness  even  at  the  hand  of  another." 

"  Alas !  Poor  me !  I  could  not  boast  such  angelic 
resignation.  It  is  wicked  to  confess  it  Amelie!  Ikit  if 
Jumonville  would  not  have  let  me  be  the  cause  of  his 
happiness,  I  fear  I  should  not  have  liked  to  hear  of  another 
making  him  happy !  Is  not  that  very  selfish  and  very 
wicked  ?  though  it  is  very  natural,"  said  Hortense  with 
honest  emphasis. 

AO 


i 


1 1 


626 


THE  CniEN  D'OR. 


"Ah!  you  do  not  know  yourself!  Hortense  !  you  are 
l)etter  than  that  allhoui^h  I  fear  most  women  woyld  do  as 
you  say,"  replied  Ame'lie  caressing  her  hand. 

"Well,  never  mind,  you  and  I  are  fortunate,  Amdlie  I 
we  shall  never  be  put  to  the  test !  Pierre  Philibert,  though 
the  pattern  of  courtesy  to  our  sex,  has  never  given  a  second 
look  at  any  girl  in  the  city  since  he  saw  you  !  " 

"  And  Jumonville  ?  "  asked  Ame'lie  archly. 

*'  O  !  he  is  a  gallant  of  the  first  water!  He  admires  all 
ladies  so  generally  and  only  one  so  particularly  that  I 
have  no  room  for  jealousy.  But  I  should  die,  Ame'lie, 
were  he  unfaithful  !  " 

'*  To  you  he  could  not  be,  darling,  nor  I  think  to  any 
one  who  trusted  in  him." 

"  You  two  engaged  ones  are  so  selfish  in  your  happi- 
ness, that  I  protest  against  any  mo'-e  whisperings  of  mutual 
congratulations  !  "  exclaimed  the  lively  Marguerite  de  Re- 
pentigny,  who  sat  in  the  midst  of  a  foaming  sea  of  silks  and 
muslins,  veils  and  orange  blossoms,  eagerly  discussing  with 
the  bridesmaids  the  respective  merits  of  each  toilette. 

"  I  wish,"  interrupted  the  pretty  Agathe  La  Corne  St. 
Luc,  "you  would  both  get  married  and  have  done  with  it ! 
It  is  provoking  to  see  you  two  so  insufferably  happy  and  we 
looking  on  and — ." 

"Languishing?  Agathe!"  replied  Hortense  springing 
up  and  embracing  her,  "  I  will  be  your  bridesmaid,  dear, 
when  among  all  your  admirers  you  can  decide  which  vou 
will  take." 

"  Thanks  Hortense  !  I  could  not  have  a  fairer  one. 
But  my  prince  has  not  arrived  yet  to  claim  his  bride.  My 
husband  shall  be  a  king  in  my  eyes,  even  were  he  a  beggar 
in  the  eyes  of  others.  But  if  not  a  kmg  he  shall  be  an 
ofiEicer,  for  1  shall  never  marry  out  of  the  army !  " 

"You  remember  our  schoolgirl  play,"  —  continued 
Agathe  archly — 

"  Je  voudra^  bicn  nic  maricr  ! 

Mais  j'ai  graiul  ])cur  tic  me  trompcr — 
Je  voudrais  bicn  d'un  otiicicr  ! 
Jc  marcheiais  a  pas  caries — 
Dans  ma  jolie  clianibrette  I  " 

Agathe  holding  up  her  pretty  chin,  and  f^.uttering  her 
dress  as  she  sang  this  merry  cloggrel,  marched  with  a 
mock  military  step  to  and  fro  across   the  floor,  wearing  a 


EVIL  NEWS  RIDES  POST. 


627 


iin 
med 


her 
111  a 
Ig  a 


garland  of  orange  blossoms,  and  a  veil  upon  her  head,  and 
with  such  an  air  of  uiiniicrv,  takinj;  off,  first  Amelie  and 
then  Hortense,  that  ihe  whole  bevy  of  <jirls  lauL(he(l  and 
screamed  with  deliglit,  while  Agatlie  continued  her  promen- 
ade singing  the  drollest  impromptus  her  wit  suggested. 

The  sun  of  St.  Martin  shone  gloriously  through  the 
casement,  sheilding  an  aureole  of  golden  light  over  the 
group  of  fair  girls.  A  stream  of  slanting  rays  shot  into 
the  little  oratory  so  that  it  looked  to  the  eye  of  Amelie  like 
the  ladder  of  heaven,  where  the  ])atriarch  saw  angels 
ascending  and  descending  upon  it. 

As  she  gazed  at  the  singular  appearance,  she  recited  a 
silent  prayer  of  thanks  lo  God  fur  her  happiness — while 
Heloise  in  a  still  more  spiritual  mood,  laid  her  hand  upon 
the  shoulder  of  Ame'lie,  and  also  watched  the  wonderfiil 
play  of  light  flaming  round  the  cross,  and  thinking  though;s 
she  had  never  given  utterance  to  except  in  her  own  secret 


musmgs. 


The  girls  were  startled  in  the  midst  of  their  glee  by  the 
sudden  dashing  past  of  a  horseman,  who  rode  in  a  cloud  of 
dust,  followed  by  a  wild  strange  cry,  as  of  many  people 
shoutinij  toifether  in  lamentation  and  anger. 

Amelie  and  Heloise  looked  at  each  other  with  a  stranjre 
feeling,  but  sat  still,  while  the  rest  rushed  to  the  balcony 
where  thev  leaned  eairerlv  over  it  to  catch  si-dit  of  the 
passing  horseman,  and  discover  the  meaning  of  the  loud 
and  still  repeated  cry. 

The  rider  had  disappeared  round  the  angle  of  the  Cape, 
but  the  cry  from  the  city  waxed  still  louder,  as  if  more  and 
more  voices  joined  in  it. 

Presently  men  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  were  seen, 
hurrying  towards  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis,  and  one  or  two 
shot  up  the  long  slope  of  the  Place  d'Armes,  galloping 
towards  the  mansion  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  talking  and 
gesticulating  in  the  wildest  manner. 

•'  In  God's  name,  what  is  the  matter,  Monsieur  La 
Force?"  exclaimed  Hortense  as  that  gentleman  rode 
furiously  up  and  checked  his  horse  violently  at  the  sight 
of  the  ladies  U|)on  the  balcony. 

Hortense  repeated  lu-r  question.  La  Force  took  olT  his 
hat  and  looked  up  pu/zled  and  distressed,  "  Is  the  Laily 
de  Tilly  at  home  .-•  "  inquired  he  eagerly. 

"Not   just    now,  she  has  gone  out,    but  what  is    the 


1; 


-I 

I 


■rn- 


Hl 


I- 


! 


'■  ! 


i  • 


628 


TV/y^  CHIE.V   D'OR. 


matter  in  heaven's  name  ?  "  repeated  she,  as  another  wild 
cry  came  up  from  the  city. 

"  Is  Madamoiselle  Ame'he  home  ?  "  again  asked  La 
Force  with  agitated  voice. 

"  She  is  home  !  Heavens  !  have  you  some  bad  news  to 
tell  her,  or  the  Lady  de  Tilly .'' "  breathlessly  inquired 
Hortense. 

"  JJad  news  for  both  of  them  !  for  all  of  us  !  Hortense  1 
but  I  will  not  be  the  bearer  of  such  terrible  tidings- 
others  are  fc^Uowing  me,  ask  them  ?  (),  Hortense  !  prepare 
poor  Amelie  for  the  worst  news  that  ever  came  to  her." 

The  Sieur  La  Force  would  not  wait  to  be  further 
questioned — He  rode  off  furiously. 

The  bridesmaids  all  turned  pale  with  affright  at  these 
ominous  words,  and  stood  looking  at  each  other  and  asking 
what  they  could  mean  ? 

Amelie  and  Heloise  caujrht  some  of  the  conversation 
between  Hortense  and  La  Force.  They  sprang  up  and  ran 
to  the  balcony,  just  as  two  of  the  servants  of  the  horse 
came  rushing  up  with  open  mouths,  staring  eyes,  and 
trembling  with  excitement.  They  did  not  wait  to  be  asked 
what  was  the  matter,  but  as  soon  as  they  saw  the  ladies, 
they  shouted  out  the  terrible  news — as  the  manner  of  their 
kind  is,  without  a  thought  of  the  consequences,  "  that  Le 
Gardeur  had  just  killed  the  Bourgeois  Philibert.  in  the 
Market  place  !  and  was  himself  either  killed  or  a  prisoner  ! 
and  the  people  were  going  to  burn  the  Friponne  and  hang 
the  Intendant  under  the  tablet  of  the  (lolden  Dog,  and  all 
the  city  was  going  to  be  destroyed  ! 

'J'he  servants  having  communicated  this  piece  of  wild 
intelligence,  instantly  rushed  into  the  house,  and  repeated 
it  to  the  household — filling  the  mansion  in  a  few  moments 
with  shrieks  and  confusion. 

It  was  in  vain,  Hortense  and  Agathe  La  Corne  St. 
Luc,  strove  to  withhold  the  terrible  truth  from  Amelie — 
Her  friends  endeavored  with  kindly  force  and  eager  ex- 
hortations to  prevent  her  coming  to  the  balcony,  but  she 
would  not  be  staved — In  her  excitement  she  had  the 
strength  of  one  of  God's  angels.  She  had  caught  enough 
of  the  speech  of  the  servants  to  gather  up  its  sense  into  a 
connected  wiiole,  and  in  a  moment  of  terrible  enlightenment 
that  came  like  a  thunderbolt  driven  through  her  soul,  she 
understood  the  wliole  signiticance  of  their  tidings. 


ne  St. 
nelie — 
^er  '-.X- 
3ut  she 
ad  the 
nou^h 
into  n 


£F/L  NEWS  RIDES  POST. 


629 


Her  hapless  brother  maddened  with  disappointment, 
drink  and  desperation  had  killed  the  father  of  I'ierro  !  the 
father  of  her  betrothed  husband  !  his  own  friend  and  hers, 
why  or  how,  was  a  mystery  of  amazement. 

She  saw  at  a  glance  all  the  ruin  of  it  !  Her  brother  a 
murderer — the  Bourgeois  a  bleeding  corpse  I  Pierre  her 
lover  and  her  pride  lost — lost,  to  her  forever  !  The  blood  of 
his  father  rising  up  between  them  calling  for  vengeance 
upon  Le  Gardeur  and  invoking  a  curse  upon  the  whole 
house  of  Repentigny. 

The  heart  of  Ame'lie,  but  a  few  moments  ago  expanding 
with  joy  and  overflowing  with  the  tenderest  emotions  of  a 
loving  bride,  suddenly  collapsed  and  shri\elled  like  a  leaf, 
in  the  fire  of  this  unlooked-for  catastrophe. 

She  stared  wildly  and  imploringly  in  the  countenances 
of  her  trembling  companions,* as  if  for  help,  but  no  human 
help  could  avail  her.  She  spake  not,  but  utteiing  one 
long  agonizing  scream,  fell  senseless  uj5on  the  bosom  of 
Heloise  de  Lotbiniere — who  herself  nigh  fainting,  bore 
Amelie  with  the  assistance  of  her  friends  to  a  couch  where 
she  lay  unconscious  of  the  tears  and  wailing  that  surround- 
ed her. 

In  the  absence  of  the  Ladv  de  Tilly,  Marguerite  de 
Repentigny,  with  the  presence  of  mind  so  characteristic 
of  her  family,  ordered  the  servants  to  their  duties,  and  the 
doors  to  be  shut  against  all  visitors  from  the  city,  numbers 
of  whom  were  hurrying  up  to  the  Cape,  bearing  the  doleful 
tidings — and  anxious  to  sympathize  with  their  distress. 

Madame  Couillard^  Aladame  de  Grandmaison  and 
other  neighbors  near  and  far  vainly  knocked  at  the  door 
of  the  mansion — Marguerite  was  inexorable.  She  would 
not  have  Amelie  gazed  upon  or  made  a  subject  of  comment, 
or  of  curiosity,  or  even  sympathy  to  the  idle  gossips  of  the 
city. 

Marguerite  with  her  '.veeping  companions  remained  in 
the  chamber  of  Amelie  watching  eagerly  for  some  sign  of 
returning  consciousness,  and  assiduously  administering 
such  restoratives  as  were  at  hand. 

Their  patience  and  tenderness  were  at  last  rewarded— 
Amelie  gave  a  flutter  of  reviving  life.  Her  dark  eyes 
opened  and  stared  wildly  for  a  moment  at  her  companions 
with  a  blank  look,  until  they  rested  upon  tlie  veil  and  orange 
blossoms  on  the  head  of  Agathe,  who  had  put  them  on  in 


' 


V    I 


630 


r//E  C///E.V  D'OR. 


such  a  merry  mood  and  forgotten  in  the  sudden  catastrophe 
to  take  them  off  again. 

The  sight  of  the  bridal  veil  and  wreatli  seemed  to  rouse 
Amelie  to  consciousness.  The  terrible  news  of  the  murder 
of  the  Bourgeois  by  Le  Gardeur,  Hashed  upon  her  mind 
and  she  pressed  her  burning  eyelids  hard  shut  with  her 
hands,  as  if  not  to  see  the  hideous  thought. 

Her  companions  wept,  but  Amelie  found  no  relief  in 
tears  as  she  murmured  the  name  of  the  Bourgeois,  Le 
Gardeur  and  Pierre. 

They  spoke  si  .  tly  to  her  in  tones  of  tenderest  sympathy  ; 
but  she  scarcely  heeded  them,  absorbed  as  she  was  in 
deepest  despair,  and  still  pressing  her  eyes  shut,  as  if  she 
had  done  with  day  and  cared  no  more  to  see  the  bright 
sunshine  that  streamed  through  the  lattice.  The  past, 
present  and  future  of  her  whole  life  started  up  before  her 
in  terrible  distinctness,  and  seemed  concentrated  in  one 
present  spot  of  mental  anguish. 

Amelie  came  of  an  heroic  race,  stern  to  endure  pain 
as  to  inflict  it,  capable  of  unshrinking  fortitude  and  of 
desperate  resolves.  A  few  moments  of  terrible  contem- 
plation decided  her  forever,  changed  the  whole  current  of 
her  life,  and  overtiirew  as  with  an  earthquake,  the  gorgeous 
palace  of  her  maiden  hopes  and  long  cherished  anticipa- 
tions of  love  and  happiness  as  the  wife  of  Pierre  Philibert  ! 

She  saw  it  all  !  there  was  no  room  for  hope  !  no  chance 
of  averting  the  fatal  doom  that  had  fallen  upon  her  !  Her 
life  as  she  had  long  pictured  it  to  her  imagination,  was 
done  and  ended  !  Her  projected  marriage  with  Pierre 
Philibert?  It  was  like  sudden  death!  In  one  moment 
the  hand  of  God  had  transported  her  from  the  living  to 
the  dead  world  of  woman's  love  !  A  terrible  crime  had 
been  perpetrated,  and  she,  innocent  as  she  was,  nuist  bear 
the  burden  of  puiushment.  She  had  but  one  object  now 
to  live  for,  to  put  on  sackcloth  and  ashes  and  wear  her 
knees  out  in  prayer  before  God,  imploring  forgiveness  and 
mercy  upon  her  unhappy  brother  and  expiate  the  righteous 
bloocl  of  the  just  man  who  had  been  slain  by  him. 

She  rose  hastily  and  stood  up.  Her  face  was  beautiful 
as  the  face  of  a  marble  Niobe,  but  as  pale,  and  as  full  of 
anguish. 

"  My  loving  bridesmaids,"  said  she,  "  it  is  now  all 
over  with  poor    Ame'lie  de  Repentigny  I  tell  Pierre,"  and 


'*i-...«. 


EVIL  NEWS  RIDES  POST. 


63 1 


here  she  sobbed,  almost  choklnfj  in  her  jrricf,  "tell 
Pierre  not  to  hate  nic  for  this  biotKl  that  lies  on  ihethresh- 
olcl  of  our  house  !  Tell  him  how  truly  and  faithfully  I  was 
preparing  to  devote  myself  to  his  happiness  as  his  bride 
and  wife ;  tell  him  how  I  loved  him,  and  I  only  forsake 
him  because  it  is  the  inexoral)le  decree  of  my  sad  fate  ; 
not  my  will,  but  my  cruel  misfortune  !  Hut  I  know  his  noble 
nature  ;  he  will  jiity,  not  hate  me.  Tell  him  it  will  even 
rejoice  me  where  I  am  going,  to  know  that  Pierre  Phil- 
ibert  still  lovesme.  I  cannot,  dare  not  ask  him  to  pardon 
Le  Gardeur  !  I  dare  not  pardon  him  myself!  Hut  I  know 
Pierre  will  be  just  and  merciful  to  my  poor  brother,  even 
in  this  hour  of  doom  !  " 

"  And  now,"  continued  she,  speaking  with  a  terrible 
energy,  "  Put  away  these  bridal  deceits  !  they  will  never 
be  worn  by  me  !  I  have  a  garb  more  becoming  the  bridal 
of  death  ;  more  fitting  to  wear  by  the  sister  of — O,  (jod  ! 
I  was  going  to  say,  of  a  murderer  !  " 

Amelie,  with  a  wild  desperation,  gathered  up  the  gay 
robes  and  garlands,  and  threw  them  in  a  heap  in  the  cor- 
ner of  the  chamber.  ''  My  glory  is  departed  !  "  said  she, 
"  O,  Hortense,  I  am  punished  for  the  ])ride  I  took  in 
them  !  Yet  it  was  not  for  myself,  but  for  the  sake  of  him, 
I  took  pride  in  them  !  I^>estow  them  I  pray  you  upon  some 
more  hajipy  girl,  who  is  poor  in  fortune,  but  rich  in  love, 
who  will  wear  them  at  her  bridal,  instead  of  the  unhappy 
Amelie  !  " 

The  group  of  girls  beheld  her,  while  their  eyes  were 
swimming  with  tears,  "  I  have  long,  long  kept  a  bridal 
veil  in  my  closet,"  she  went  on,  "  and  knew  not  it  was  to 
be  mine  !  "  Opening  a  wardrobe,  she  took  out  a  long 
black  veil.  It  had  belonged  to  her  grand-aunt,  the  nun, 
Madelaine  de  Repentigny,  and  was  kept  as  an  heirloom  in 
her  family. 

"'IHiis,"  said  she,  "shall  be  mine  till  death  !  Embrace 
me,  O,  my  sisters,  my  bridesmaids  and  companions  !  1  go 
now  to  the  Ursulines  to  kneel  at  the  door  and  crave  ad- 
mittance to  pass  a  life  of  penitence  for  Le  Gardeur,  and  of 
prayer  for  my  beloved  Pierre," 

"O,  Amelie,  think  what  you  do  !  "  exclaimed  Hortense 
Beauharnois,  "  He  not  hasty,  take  not  a  step  that  cannot  be 
recalled.     It  will  kill  Pierre  !  " 

"Alas!  I  have  killed  him  already!"  said  she,  "  but  my 


I 


ii 


''     I 


Ii 


632 


T//E  CHIEN  D'OR. 


mind  is  made  up  !  Dear  Hortense,  I  love  Pierre,  but  O,  I 
could  never  look  at  his  face  ajijain  without  shame,  that 
would  burn  like  guilt.  I  j^ive  rnyself,  henceforth,  to  Christ, 
not  for  my  own  sake,  but  for  his,  and  for  my  unhappy 
brother's !  Do  not  hinder  me,  dear  friends,  and  i\o  not 
follow  me  !  May  you  all  be  happy  in  your  happiness,  and 
pray  for  poor  Anielie  whom  fate  has  stricken  so  hard,  and 
so  cruelly  in  the  \'ery  moment  of  her  brif^htest  hopes ! 
And  now  let  me  go — alone — and  God  bless  you  all  !  Hid 
my  aunt  to  come  and  see  me,"  added  she,  *'  I  cannot  even 
wail  her  return," 

The  girls  stood  weeping  around  her,  and  kissed  and 
embraced  her  over  and  over.  'I'hey  would  not  disobey 
her  request  to  be  allowed  to  go  alone  to  the  convent,  but 
as  she  turned  to  depart,  she  was  clasped  round  the  neck 
by  Heloise  de  Lolbiniere,  exclaiming  that  she  should  not 
go  alone  !  that  the  light  of  the  world  had  gone  out  for  her 
as  well  as  for  Aiuelie,  and  she  would  go  with  her  ! 

*•'  But  why,  Heloise,  would  you  go  with  me  io  the  con- 
vent?" asked  Amelie,  sadly.  She  knew  but  too  well, 
why. 

"  O,  my  cousin  !  I  too  would  pray  for  Le  Gardeur  !  I 
too — but  no  matter  !  I  will  go  with  you,  Amelie  !  If  the 
door  of  the  Ursulines  open  for  you,  it  shall  open  for 
Heloise  de  Lotbiniere  also." 

*'  I  have  no  right  to  say  nay,  Heloise,  nor  w^II  I,"  re- 
plied Amelie,  embracing  her,  "you  are  of  my  blood  and 
lineage,  and  th.e  lamp  of  Repentigny  is  always  burning  in 
the  holy  chapel  to  receive  broken-hearted  penitents  like 
you  and  me  !  " 

"O,  Heloise  !  do  not  you  also  leave  us  !  Stay  till  to- 
Biorrow  !  "  exclaimed  the  agitated  girls,  amazed  at  this 
new  announcement. 

"  My  mind  is  made  up  ;  it  has  long  been  made  up !  " 
replied  Heloise,  "  I  only  waited  the  marriage  of  Amelie, 
before  consummating  my  resolution  to  enter  the  convent. 
1  go  now  to  comfort  Amelie,  as  no  other  friend  in  the 
world  can  comfort  her.  We  shall  be  more  content  in  the 
midst  of  our  sorrows  to  be  together.*' 

It  wnis  in  vain  to  plead  with  or  to  dissuade  them. 
Amelie  and  Heloise  were  inexorable,  and  eager  to  be  gone. 
They  again  kissed  their  companions,  with  many  tears 
bidding  them  a  last  farewell,  and  the  two  weeping  girls, 


THE  URSUUNES. 


^ZZ 


hidinfj  ihcir  heads  under  their  veils,  Itft  the  bright  man- 
sion tint  was  their  home,  and  proceeded  with  hasty  sttjw 
towards  the  convent  of  the  UrsuHnes. 


CHAPTER   LVI. 


!  " 
lie, 

It. 
Ihe 

he 

hi. 

le. 
irs 

Is. 


THE      U  R  S  U  L  /  N  K  S  . 

CLOSELY  veiled,  acknowledginfj  no  one,  looking;  at  no 
one,  and  not  themselves  recoji^nized  by  any,  but  clinging 
to  each  other  for  mutual  support,  Amelie  and  Hcloise 
traversed  swiftly  the  streets  that  led  to  the  convent  of  the 
Ursu  lines. 

At  the  doors,  and  ni  the  porches  and  galleries  of  the 
old  fashioned  houses,  women  stood  in  groups,  discussing 
eagerly  the  wild  repr)rts  that  were  flying  to  and  fro  through 
the  city,  and  looking  up  and  down  the  streets  for  further 
news  of  the  tragedy  in  tlie  market-place.  The  male  part 
of  the  population  had  run  off  and  gathered  in  excited 
masses  round  the  mansion  of  the  Golden  Dog,  which  was 
suddenly  shut  up,  and  long  streamers  of  black  crape  were 
lianiiinsr  at  the  door. 

Many  were  the  inquisitive  glances  and  eager  whisper- 
ings of  the  goodwives  and  girls,  as  the  two  ladies,  deeply 
veiled  in  black  passed  by  with  drooping  heads  and  hand- 
kerchiefs pressed  against  their  faces,  while  more  than  one 
quick  ear  caught  the  deep  suppressed  sobs  that  broke 
from  their  bosoms.  No  one  ventured  to  address  them 
however,  although  their  appearance  caused  no  little 
speculation  as  to  who  they  were,  and  whither  they  were 
going. 

"  They  look  broken-hearted,  poor  things  !  "  exclaimed 
good  Madame  Bissot  to  her  next  door  neighbor  in  the 
Rue  des  Jardins,  *'  some  friends  of  the  Bourgeois,  or  per- 
haps they  are  making  for  the  convent.  They  are  high 
ladies,  I  warrant  by  iheir  dress,  and  certainly  sweeter  fig- 
ures I  never  saw  ;  did  you,  xMadame  Hamel  ?  " 


\     \ 


m 


634 


77//f  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


\ 


**  Never,"  replied  Madame  Ilamel,  eajjerly,  "  I  do  won- 
der who  they  can  l)e?  It  is  plain  to  see  they  are  bound  for 
the  UrsuUnes.  I  have  lived  in  the  Rue  des  Jardins,  maid 
and  wife,  thirty  years,  Madame  Bissot,  and  I  have  never 
been  mistaken  in  the  ap|)earance  of  a  <;irl  takinjjj  her 
broken  heart  to  the  convent  10  lay  it  upon  the  tomb  of 
Mbre  Marie  de  rincarnation." 

Madame  Hisssol  was  at  no  loss  for  an  explanation  : — 

"That  is  because  our  sex  is  all  feeling,  Mad.ime 
Hamel !  "  said  she.  '*  I  was  all  feelini:^,  myself,  when  I  was  a 
girl.  They  say  that  the  toml)  of  Mere  Marie  has  a  rare 
secret  for  consolinjj  the  troubles  of  the  heart.  IJut  is  it 
not  queer,  Madame  Hamel,  that  whenever  a  girl  loses  her 
lover,  she  always  wants  to  fly  to  the  convent  !  you  remem- 
ber pretty  Madelaine  des  Meloises,  how  she  ran  barefoot 
to  the  Ursulines,  leaping  out  of  bed  at  midnight,  when 
news  came  of  the  death  of  that  young  officer  to  whom  she 
was  betrothed  !  She  has  found  consolation  in  the  cloister, 
for  you  know  how  she  sings  like  a  nightingale  ever  since, 
as  we  all  can  hear  any  day  at  vespers,  if  we  chose  to  listen 
— as  I  always  do." 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  queer,"  replied  Madame  Hamel,  "but 
my  good  man  always  says  ;  'girl's  feelings,  men's  failings, 
and  love's  foolings  keep  life  alive  ! '  Nothing  can  overtake 
a  girl  on  the  run  from  a  disappointment,  or  to  a  wedfling! 
But  a  man  who  is  jilted,  never  delays  helping  himself  to  a 
second  cake,  if  he  is  at  all  hungry  for  matrimony." 
Madame  Hamel  had  been  thrice  married,  and  was  there- 
fore an  authoiity  on  the  subject. 

"  Indeed,  a  man  has  little  chance  to  escape  ji  second 
cake  now-a-days  !  "  replied  Madame  Bissot,  "  and  it  is  well 
they  can  stand  a  first,  second,  and  even  third  course  of 
matrimony.  This  cruel  war  has  left  men  as  scarce  as  gold 
and  as  valuable  ;  while  the  women  are  plenty  as  hops  and 
as  cheap.  How  fortunate  it  is  that  peact*has  been  made, 
for  it  began  to  be  prophesied  that  the  day  was  coming  in 
New  France  when  seven  women  would  take  hold  of  one 
man,  and  wear  their  own  clothes  too,  for  the  sake  of  being 
called  by  his  name  ;  what  a  dreadful  prospect !  Think  of 
me  with  the  seventh  part  of  a  man,  Madame  Hamel  !  " 

"  It  is  a  sad  reflection,  Madame  Bissot ;  and  me  with 
my  ten  daughters  upon  my  hands !  what  to  do  with  them 
in  any  way  decent  and  respectable  except  make  nuns  of 


take 
ing! 
to  a 


cond 

well 

of 

old 

and 

ade, 

»gin 

one 


g 


»eing 
k  of 

with 
hem 

IS  of 


TTTE  URSULTXRS. 


635 


them,  I  do  not  know!  I  ought  to  have  been  grandmother 
by  this  time  !  Mere  am  I,  but  seventeen  years  older  than 
my  eldest  daughter  !  I  wish  some  of  my  girls  would  run 
away  to  the  convent  too,  before  they  do  worse.  1  see  no 
chance  of  marrying  them." 

"  It  is  a  bad  prospect,"  replied  Madame  Bissot,  "as  [ 
heard  a  gentleman  of  the  castle — it  was  the  Sieur  Lemoine 
— remark  the  other  day  as  I  was  going  to  church  :  'The 
women,'  '■•(•  said,  '  would  have  the  colonv  all  to  themselves, 
by-an''  ..•  '  the  war  continued,  an-l  we  should  have  to 
fight  t'  glish  with  an  army  of  Amazons,'  so  he  called 

their  w..  _n  I  take  to  be  some  stranre  tribe  of  savajres. 
But  look,  Madame  Hamel  !  those  two  ladies  are  really 
crossing  over  to  the  convent.  I  knew  I  was  not  mistaken  ! 
Who  can  they  be  ?  " 

Whether  the  legitimate  curiosity  of  the  good  gossips  of 
the  Rue  des  Jardins  was  ever  gratified  on  this  point — the 
record  saveth  no?  ;  but  Amc'lie  and  Heloist-  almost  faint- 
ing  under  their  sorrow,  stood  upon  the  broad  stone  step 
which  formed  the  threshold  that  separated  the  world  they 
were  entering  into,  from  the  world  they  were  leaving. 

'I'he  high  gables  and  old  belfry  of  the  Monastery,  stood 
bathed  in  sunlight.  The  iigure  of  St.  Joseph  that  domi- 
nated over  the  ancient  portal,  held  out  his  arms  and  seem- 
ed to  welcome  the  trembling  fugitives  into  the  house  with 
a  gesture  of  benediction. 

The  sun  darted  a  stream  of  rays  into  the  deep  porch, 
illuininati ng  its  gloomy  interior.  'l"he  golden  shafts  shot 
through  the  open  wick(.'t,  forming  upon  the  stone  fioor 
within,  a  square  of  light  emblazoned  with  the  figure  of  a 
cross  projected  from  the  bars  of  the  wicket. 

The  two  ladies  paused  upon  the  stone  steps.  Amelia 
clasped  her  arm  round  Heloise  whom  she  pressed  to  her 
bosom  and  said  : — "  'I'hink  before  you  knock  at  this  door 
and  cross  the  threshold  for  the  last  time,  Heloise  !  You 
must  not  do  it  for  my  sake,  darling." 

"  No,  Anielie,"  replied  she  sadly.  "  It  is  not  wholly  for 
your  sake.  Would  I  could  say  it  were  !  Alas!  If  I  re- 
mained in  the  world,  I  could  even  now  pity  Le  Gardeur, 
and  follow  him  to  the  world's  end  ;  but  it  must  not — cannot 
be.     Do  not  seek  to  dissuade  me,  Amelie,  for  it  is  useless." 

*' Your  mind  is  made  uj)  then,  to  go  in  with  me,  my 
Heloise  1  "  said  Amelie,  with  a  fond  questioning  look." 


636 


THE  CniRN  D'OR. 


"  Fully,  finally  and  for  ever  !  "  replied  she  with  energy 
that  left  no  room  for  doubt.  "  I  lon<r  ago  resoKed  to  a>Ic 
the  copiniunity  to  let  me  die  with  them.  My  object,  dear 
sister,  is  like  yours:  to  spend  my  life  in  prayers  and  sup- 
plications for  Le  (lardeur,  and  be  laid,  wlien  (lod  calls  \\\q 
to  his  rest  by  the  side  of  our  noble  Aunt  Mere  M  idelaine  de 
Repentigny,  whose  lamp  still  burns  in  the  Chapel  of  the 
Saints,  as  if  to  li<;ht  you  and  me  to  follow  in  her  footsteps." 

"  It  is  for  Le  Gardeur's  sake  I  too  <jo,''  replied  Amelia, 
"  to  veil  my  face  from  tlie  eyes  of  a  world  I  am  ashamed  to 
see,  and  to  expiate,  if  I  can,  the  innocent  l)l()o(l  tiiat  has  been 
shed,  liut  tlie  sun  shines  very  bright  for  those  to  whom 
its  beams  are  still  pleasant !  "  said  she,  looking  round  sadly, 
as  if  it  were  for  the  last  time,  she  bade  adieu  to  the  sun, 
which  she  should  never  again  behold  uniler  the  free  vault  of 
heaven. 

Heloise  turned  slowly  to  the  door  of  the  convent.  "Those 
golden  rays  that  shine  through  the  wicket,"  said  she,  "  and 
form  a  cross  upon  the  pavement  within,  as  we  often  observed 
with  school-girl  admiration,  are  the  only  rays  to  gladden 
me  now.  I  care  no  more  for  the  light  of  the  sun.  I  will  live 
henceforth  in  the  blessed  light  of  the  lamp  of  Repentigny. 
My  mind  is  fixed  and  I  will  not  leave  you,  Amelie.  Where 
thou  goest  !  will  go,  where  thou  lodgest  I  will  lodge  ;  thy 
people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy  God  my  God."  , 

Amelie  kissed  her  cousin  tenderly.  "  So  be  it,  then, 
Heloise.  Your  heart  is  broken  as  well  as  mine  !  We  will 
pray  together  for  Le  Gardeur,  beseeching  God  to  pity  and 
forgive." 

Amelie  knocked  at  the  door  twice  before  a  sound  of 
light  footsteps  was  heard  within.  A  veiled  nun  appeared 
at  the  little  wicket  and  looked  gravely  for  a  moment  upon 
the  two  postulantes  for  admission,  repeating  the  formula 
usual  on  such  occasions. 

"  What  seek  you,  my  sisters  ?" 

"  To  come  in  and  find  rest,  good  Mbre  des  Seraphins," 
replied  Amelie,  to  whom  the  portiere  was  well  known. 
*'  We  desire  to  leave  the  world  and  live  henceforth  with  the 
communitv  in  the  service  and  adoration  of  our  blessed 
Lord,  and  to  pray  for  the  sins  of  others  as  well  as  our  own." 

''  It  is  a  pious  desire,  and  no  one  stands  at  the  door  and 
knocks  but  it  is  opened.  Wait,  my  sisters,  1  will  summon 
the  Lady  Superior  to  admit  you." 


THE  URSULINES. 


637 


» 


tsed 
All." 
iind 


The  nun  disappeared  for  a  few  ininiitos.  Her  voice 
was  lieard  aj^ain  as  she  returned  to  the  wicket  : — "I'he 
Lady  Superior  deputes  to  Mt;re  Esther  the  pri\  ilc<j^c,  on 
this  occasion,  of  receivinj^  the  welcome  postulantes  of  the 
house  of  Repentij^ny. 

The  portibre  retired  from  the  wicket.  The  heavy  door 
swunjj;  noiselessly  back,  openin;;  the  way  into  a  small  ante- 
chamber, floored  with  smooth  flajjs,  and  contairiiii<.;  a  tal)le 
and  a  seat  or  two.  On  either  si(le  of  the  interior  door  of 
the  antp-chamber  was  a  turnstile  or  tourelle,  which  enabled 
the  inmates  within  to  receive  anvthin;r  froni  the  outside 
world  without  being  themselves  seen.  Amelie  and  Heloise 
passed  through  the  inner  door,  which  opened  as  of  its  own 
accord,  as  they  approached  it  with  trembling  steps  and 
troubled  mien. 

A  tall  nun  of  commanding  figure  but  benign  aspect, 
received  the  two  ladies  with  the  utmost  affection,  as  well 
known  friends,  but  without  the  gush  of  empressement  that 
would  have  marked  their  reception  by  a  Lady  of  French 
origin. 

The  venerable  Mbre  Esther  in  look,  temperament,  as 
well  as  in  birth,  was  English,  although  in  huiguage  anfl 
ideas  wholly  P'rench  of  the  best  type.  She  was  gentli-  and 
sedate  as  became  a  woman  of  pure,  cold  and  holy  thouglits, 
who  set  no  store  by  the  world  and  never  had  (h)ne  s<v  .She 
had  left  it  at  the  age  of  fifteen  and  lived  the  quijt  life  of 
an  Ursuline  for  the  space  of  thirty-four  years. 

The  news  of  the  commotion  in  the  city  had  l*een  at 
once  conveyed  to  the  convent,  and  the  Lady  Superior 
doubting  the  discretion  and  calmness  of  Mere  Gertrude,  to 
communicate  with  the  outer  world  on  this  dav  of  excite- 
ment,  had  deputed   Mere  Esther  to  receive  all  visitors. 

Mfere  Esther  wore  a  Idack  robe  sweeping  the  ground.  It 
was  bound  at  the  waist  by  a  leatiiern  girdle.  A  black  veil 
fell  on  each  side  of  the  snowy  fillet  tliat  covered  her  fore- 
head, and  half  covered  the  white  wimple  upon  her  neck 
and  bosom. 

Her  hair  was  invisible,  being  cut  short  and  wholly  hid- 
den in  the  ungainly  fashion  of  the  spouses  of  Christ,  as  if 
the  heavenly  I3ridegroom  loves  not  the  beauty  he  creates 
in  woman. 

The  flowing  locks  that  fall  under  the  ruthless  sheirs  at 
the  consecration  of  a  nun,  are  never  permitted  to  grow 


I 


.?. ;] 


638 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


long-  again.  Why?  It  were  hard  to  tell,  unless  to  mortify 
the  natural  pleasure  of  a  woman  in  the  beauty  of  her  hair, 
in  which  abides  so  much  of  hci  strength,  as  tiie  strength  of 
Samson  abode  in  his. 

Esther  Wheelwright  had  in  her  childhood  undergone  a 
fate  not  uncommon  in  those  hard  days  of  war  upon  the 
English  frontier.  Her  father's  house  had  been  stormed 
and  pillaged,  and  herself  carried  olf  a  captive  by  a  war  party 
of  Abenaquis.  She  had  lived  among  the  savages  several 
years,  until  she  was  discovered  and  rescued  by  -^  Jesuit 
missionary,  who  brought  her  to  the  Castle  of  St.  Louis, 
where  her  beauty,  amiability  and  misfortunes  enlisted  so 
strongly  the  sympathies  of  tiie  Governor,  the  first  Marquis 
de  Vaudreuil,  that  he  adopted  her  as  his  own  child,  and 
sent  her  to  the  Ursulines  to  be  educated  with  his  own 
daughter. 

But  the  memories  of  hci  captivity  were  inaffaceable  from 
thf  mind  of  tiie  young  English  girl.  Her  friends  in  New 
England  were,  in  time,  apprised  of  her  safetv.  They  sent 
messengers  to  solicit  her  return  home,  but  after  a  liard 
struggle  between  natural  affection  and  her  duty,  as  she 
conceived  it  to  be,  Esther  chose  to  remain  in  New 
France,  where,  grateful  for  her  deliverance  from  the  Abena- 
quis, she  resolved  to  consecrate  her  life  to  Ciirist  and 
good  works.  In  the  language  of  the  enthusiastic  Jesuit 
•who  had  rcscueil  her  from  the  savages  :  "  the  fair  Esther 
mounted  the  throiif^  as  the  bride,  not  of  a  mighty  Ahasuerus 
on  earth,  but  of  a  mightier  King  of  Kings  in  heaven." 
She  became  an  Ursuline,  and  in  conjunction  with  the 
Venerable  Superior,  Mere  Migeon  de  la  Nati\  ite,  governed 
the  community  for  a  lifetime  prolonged  beyond  the  ordin- 
ary allotment  of  humanity. 

The  beautiful  portrait  of  her  mother,  sent  to  persuade 
the  young  girl  to  return  home,  haunted  her  nigh',  and  chiy, 
and  would  not  leave  her.  Its  iiuage  only  ceased  10  torment 
her  when  the  facile  hand  of  Mere  des  Anges,  the  great 
artiste  of  the  convent,  drew  a  halo  of  glory  round  the  ln^ad, 
and  transformed  the  worthy  English  mother  into  the  fairest 
Madonna  of  the  monastery — where  it  still  remains  the  pre- 
cious atiornment  ot  a  shrine  in  the  convent  chapel  to  this 
day. 

M^re  Ste.  Gertrude,  in  whose  bosonj  all  feminine  curi- 
osity was  not  quite  extinct,  would  have  been  content  to 


^>  r 


)  mortify 
lier  hair, 
ength  of 

ergone  a 
ipon  the 
stormed 
ar  party 
>  several 
a  Jesuit 
t.  Louis, 
isted  so 
M.irquis 
lild,  and 
his   own 

ble  from 

in  New 

hey  sent 

a    iiard 

as   she 

in   New 

Abena- 

ist   and 

Jesuit 

Esther 

asuerus 

eaven," 

ith    the 

)verned 

ordin- 

rsuade 
d  chiy, 
orment 
great 
i  Ix'ad, 
fairest 
he  pre- 
lo  this 

e  curi- 
ntent  to 


T//S  URSULIiVES. 


639 


remain  at  the  wicket  to  look  out  as  from  a  safe  rock,  at  the 
tossing  sea  in  the  city,  and  bless  her  immunity  from  tlie 
dangers  and  troubles  of  the  world.  Hat  Mere  Ksther  was 
assistant  superior,  and  the  habit  of  obechence,  which  was  a 
second  nature  to  Mere  Ste.  Gertrude,  causetl  her  to  rise  at 
once  and,  with  a  humble  salute,  retire  into  tiie  interior  of 
the  house  to  help  the  faitiiful  Marrhas,  my  aunts,  as  the 
soeurs  converses  were  styled,  in  their  multifarious  labors  in 
the  convent  kitchen.  Mere  Ste.  (fertrude,  as  a  penance 
for  her  tacit  and  momentary  spirit  of  disobedience,  spent 
the  rest  of  the  day  at  the  self  imposed  task  of  washing 
linen  in  the  laundry,  to  the  edification  of  the  pious  nuns,  to 
whom  she  confessed  her  guilt  and  declared  her  penance. 

Mere  Esther,  at  the  tirst  sight  of  the  veil,  thrown  over 
the  heads  of  Amelie  and  Heloise,  and  the  agitation  of  both, 
knew  at  once  that  the  lime  of  these  two  girls,  like  tliat  of 
many  others,  had  come.  Their  arrival  was  a  repetitir)n  of 
the  old  old  story,  of  wiiich  her  long  expi-rience  had  wit- 
nessed many  instances.  These  two  sorrowing  girls  sought 
refuse  from  the  storms  of  the  world.  I'hcv  had  been 
wrecked  and  cast,  half  drowned,  upon  the  rock  of  ages,  as 
M^re  Esther  regarded  it,  where  she  iierself  had  found  a 
quiet  and  restful  harbor  for  so  many  years. 

"Good  mother!"  exclaimed  Amelie,  throwing  her 
arms  round  the  nun,  who  folded  her  tender'/  to  her  bosom, 
although  her  face  remained  calm  and  passionless. 

"\Ve  are  come  at  last  !  Heloise  and  I  wish  to  live  and 
die  in  the  monastery !  Good  mother  Esther,  will  you  take 
us  in.?" 

"  Welcome  both  !  "  replied  Mere  Estl  er,  kissing  each 
of  them  on  the  forehead.  "  Tlie  virgins  \>  ho  enter  in  with 
the  bridegroom  to  the  marriage  are  those  whose  lam|)s  are 
burning!  The  lamp  of  Repentigny  is  ne\er  extinguished 
in  the  Chapel  of  Saints,  nor  is  the  door  of  the  monastery 
ever  shut  against  one  of  your  house." 

"Thanks,  good  mother!  lUu  we  bring  a  heavy  bur- 
then with  us.  No  one  but  God  can  tell  the  weight  and  the 
pain  of  it !  "  said  Ame'lie,  sadly. 

'*  I  know,  Ame'lie,  I  know  ;  but  what  says  our  blessed 
Lord  :  '  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  are  weary  and  heavy 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.'" 

"  I  seek  not  rest,  good  mother,"  replied  she,  sadly 
"  but  a  place  for  penance,  to  nielt  heaven  with  prayers  for 


640 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


the  innocent  blood  that  has  been  shed  to-day,  that  it  be  not 
recorded  forever  against  my  brother.  O,  M^re  Esther  ! 
you  know  my  brolhci,  LeGardeur  ;  how  generous  and  kind 
he  was !  You  have  heard  of  the  terrible  occurrence  in  the 
market  place  ? " 

**  Yes,  I  have  heard,"  said  the  nun.  "  Bad  news  reaches 
us  ever  soonest.  It  fills  me  with  amazement  that  one  so 
noble  as  your  brother  should  have  done  so  tenible  adeed." 

"O,  Mere  Esther  I  "  exclaimed  Amelie  eagerly,  "  It  was 
not  Le  Gardeur  in  his  senses  who  did  it.  No,  he  never 
knowingly  struck  the  blow  that  has  killed  me  as  well  as 
the  good  Bourgeois  !  Alas  !  he  knew  not  what  he  did.  But 
still  he  has  done  it,  and  my  remaining  time  left  on  earth 
must  be  spent  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  beseeching  God  for 
pardon  and  mercy  for  him." 

"  The  community  will  join  you  in  your  prayers,  Amelie  I  " 
replied  Mere. 

Esther  stood  wrapt  in  thought  for  a  few  moments. 
**  Heloise  ! "'  said  she,  addressing  the  fair  cousin  of  Ame'lie, 
**  I  have  long  expected  you  in  the  monastery.  You  strug- 
gled hard  for  the  world  and  its  delights,  but  God's  hand 
wasstrong'-r  than  your  purposes.  When  he  calls,  be  it  in 
the  darkest  night,  happy  is  she  who  rises  instantlv  to  follow 
her  Lord  !  " 

"  He  has  indeed  called  me,  O  mother  !  and  I  desire  only 
to  become  a  faithful  servant  of  His  tabernacle  forever.  I 
pray,  good  Mere  Esther,  for  your  intercession  with  the  Mbre 
de  la  Nativite.  The  venerable  Lady  Superior  used  to  say 
we  were  dowerless  brides,  we  of  the  house  of  Loti^iriiere  !  " 

"  But  you  shall  not  be  dowerless,  Heloise  !  "  burst  out 
Amelie.  *'  You  shall  enter  the  convent  with  as  rich  a  dowry 
as  ever  accompanied  an  Ursuline." 

"  No,  Ame'lie  ;  if  they  will  not  accept  me  for  myself,  I 
will  imitate  my  aunt,  the  admirable  QuetciiSi\  who,  being, 
like  me.  a  dowerless  postulante,  begged  from  house  to  house 
throughout  the  city  for  the  means  to  open  to  her  the  door 
of  the  monastery." 

"  Heloise,"  replied  Mere  Esther,  "this  is  idle  fear.  We 
have  waited  for  you,  knowing  that  one  day  you  would 
come,  and  you  will  be  most  welcome,  dowered  or  not  !  " 

"  You  are  ever  kind,  Mbre  Esther,  but  how  could  you 
know  I  should  come  to  you  ?  "  asked  Heloise,  with  a  look 
of  inquiry. 


THE  URSULINES. 


641 


"Alas!  Heloise,  we  know  more  of  the  world  and  its 
doinjijs  than  is  well  for  us  !  Onr  monaster}'  is  like  the  ear 
of  Dionysius,  not  a  whispt-rin  the  city  escapes  it.  O  !  dar- 
ling, we  knew  you  had  failed  in  your  one  great  desire  upon 
earth,  and  that  you  would  seek  consolation  where  it  is  only 
to  be  found,  in  the  arms  of  your  Lord." 

"  It  is  true,  mother  ;  I  had  hut  one  desire  upon  earth, 
and  it  is  crushed  j  one  little  bird  that  nestled  awhile  in  my 
bosom,  and  .t  has  flown  away !  The  event  of  to-day  has 
stricken  me  and  Amelie  alike,  and  we  come  together  to 
wear  out  the  stones  of  your  pavement  j^raying  for  the  hap- 
less brother  of  Amelie." 

"And  the  object  of  Ileloise's  faithful  love  !  "  replied  the 
nun,  with  tender  sympathy.  *'  O  !  how  could  Lc  Gardcur 
de  ReiDentigny  refuse  a  heart  like  yours,  Heloise,  for 
the  sake  of  tiiat  wild  daughter  of  levity,  Ange'lique  des 
Meloises?" 

*'  Mother,  speak  not  of  it !  He  did  not  refuse  my  heart. 
He  knew  not  I  loved  him,  and  Ange'lique  is  more  beautiful 
and  clever  than  I  am  or  ever  was." 

"  You  are  early  learning  the  lesson  of  self-depreciation, 
Heloise,  but  you  have  what  Angel ique  has  not — a  true 
heart  and  guileless  lips,  Ste.  Angele  will  rejoice  at  two 
such  followers.  I5ut  come,  I  will  conduct  you  to  the  ven- 
erable Lady  Superior,  who  is  in  the  garden  conversing  with 
Grand  Mere  St.  Pierre,  and  your  old  friend  and  mistress — 
Mere  Ste.  Helene." 

The  news  of  the  tragedy  in  the  market-place  had  been 
early  carried  to  the  convent  by  the  ubiquitous  I^onhomme 
Michael,  who  was  out  that  day  on  one  of  his  multifarious 
errands  in  the  service  of  the  community. 

The  news  had  passed  quickly  through  the  convent, 
agitating  the  usually  quiet  nuns,  and  causing  the  wildest 
commotion  among  the  classes  of  girls  who  were  assembled 
•  at  their  morning  lessons  in  the  great  school-room.  The 
windows  were  clustered  with  young  comely  heads,  looking 
out  in  every  direction,  while  nuns  in  alarm  streamed  from 
the  long  passages  to  the  lawn,  where  sat  the  venerable 
Superior,  Mere  Migeon  de  la  Nativite,  under  a  broad  ash 
tree,  sacred  to  the  convent  by  the  memories  that  clustered 
round  it.  The  Ste.  Therese  of  Canada,  M^re  Marie  de 
r Incarnation,  tor  lack  of  a  better  roof,  in  the  first  days  of 
her  mission,  used  to  gather  round  her  under  that  tree,  the 

41 


642 


THE  C//IEIV  DOR. 


1 4 


'\  - 


wild  Hurons  as  well  as  the  young  children  of  the  colonists, 
to  give  them  their  first  lessons  in  religion  and  letters. 

Mere  Esther  held  up  her  finger  warningly  to  the  nuns 
not  to  speak,  as  she  passed  onward  through  the  long 
corridors,  dim  with  narrow  lights  and  guarded  by  images  of 
saints,  until  she  came  into  an  open  square  flagged  with 
stones.  In  the  walls  of  this  court,  a  door  opened  upon  the 
garden  into  which  a  few  steps  downwards  conducted 
them. 

The  garden  of  the  monastery  was  spacious  and  kept  with 
great  care.  The  walks  meandered  rouiul  beds  of  fiowers  and 
under  the  boughs  of  apple  trees  and  by  espaliers  of  ancient 
pears  and  plums. 

The  fruit  had  long  been  gathered  in  and  only  a  few 
yellow  leaves  hiuig  upon  the  autumnal  trees,  but  the  grass 
was  still  green  on  the  lawn,  where  stood  the  great  ashtree 
of  Mere  Marie  de  ITncarnation.  The  last  hardy  flowers  of 
autumn  lingered  in  this  sheltered  spot. 

In  these  secluded  .-illeys  the  quiet  recluses  usually 
walked  and  ineditaied  in  peace,  for  here  man's  disturbing 
voice  was  never  heard. 

But  to-day  a  cluster  of  agiiated  nuns  gathered  round 
the  great  ash-tree  ;  and  here  and  there  stood  groups  of  black 
and  white  veils;  some  were  talk'ng,  while  others  knelt 
silently  before  the  guardian  of  the  nouse,  the  image  of  St. 
Joseph,  which  overlooked  this  spot,  considered  particularly 
sacred  to  prayer  and  meditation. 

The  sight  of  Mere  Esther,  followed  by  the  well,  known 
figures  of  Ainelie  and  Heloise,  caused  every  head  to  turn 
with  a  look  of  recognition  ;  but  the  nuns  were  too  well 
disciplined  to  express  either  surprise  or  curiosity  in  the 
presence  of  Mhre  Migeon,  however  much  they  felt  of  both. 
They  stood  apart  at  a  sign  from  the  Lady  Superior,leaving 
her  with  a  nun  attendant  on  each  side,  to  receive  M^re 
Esther  and  her  two  companions. 


THE  LAMP  OF  REPENTIGNY. 


643 


CHAPTER   LVII. 


THE  LAMP   OF  REPENTIGNY. 


MERE  Migeon  lio  la  Nativite  was  old  in  years  but  fresh 
in  looks  and  alert  in  spirit.  Her  features  were  set  in 
that  peculiar  expression  of  droojjing  eyelids  and  placid  lips 
which  belongs  to  the  Convent,  but  she  could  look  up  and 
flash  out  on  occasion  with  an  air  of  command  derived  from 
high  birth  and  a  long  exercise  of  authority  as  superior  of 
the  Ursulines,  to  ^vhich  office  the  community  had  elected 
her  as  many  trienniums  as  their  rules  permitted. 

Mere  Migeon  had  been  nearly  half  a  century  a  nun,  and 
felt  as  much  pride  as  humility  in  the  reflection.  She  liked 
power,  which  however  she  exercised  wholly  for  the  benefit 
of  her  subjects  in  the  convent,  and  wore  her  veil  with  as 
much  dignity  as  the  Queen  her  crown.  But  if  not  exempt 
from  some  traces  of  human  infirmitv  she  made  amends  bv 
devoting  herself  night  and  day  to  the  spiritual  and  temporal 
welfare  of  the  community  who  submitted  to  her  government 
with  extreme  deference  and  un(|uestit)ning  obedience. 

By  her  side  stood  two  faitliful  and  trusty  members  of 
the  Conscil  dcs  Sages  of  the  monastery,  whom  she  never 
failed  to  consult  in  all  emergencies.  Although  she  always 
followed  at  last  the  wise  suggestions  and  firm  <ruidin<z  hand 
of  Mere  Estiier  her  coadjutrice  in  the  government. 

One  of  these,  a  very  aged  nun,  was  the  famous  Grande, 
Mere  Genevieve  de  St.  Pierre,  the  worthy  daughter  of  a 
remarkable  man.  the  oeigneur  de  Boucher\iile,  ennol)le'l  for 
his  defense  of  'Ihiee  Rivers  against  an  army  of  Irocpiois  in 
1653.  Grande-Mere  St.  Pierre  counted  nearly  fourscore 
years  of  age  at  this  time,  threescore  of  which  she  had 
passed  in  tlie  Cloister.  She  was  still  strong  in  mind  and 
vigorous  of  body,  as  became  her  father's  daughter.  And 
she  reached  a  still  greater  age  before  she  succumbed  at  last 
to  the  siege  of  nearly  a  century  of  years. 

At  her  feet,  kneehng  with  elbow  reposed  on  the  lap  of 
the  venerable  Grande-Mere  St.  Pierre,  was  a  fair,  deh'cate 
woman,  Mere    Charlotte  de  Muy  de  Ste.   Helene,  grand- 


644 


THE  cm  EN  D'OR. 


f: ;  ^  ■ 


i 


daughter  of  the  same  stock  of  the  Seigneur  de  P>oucherville, 
and  wlio  if  she  had  not  inherited  the  strong  bodily  attri- 
butes of  her  race,  had  succeeded  to  the  literary  talents  of 
her  grand  sire,  and  shone  among  the  nuns  as  the  annalist 
of  the  Convent  and  of  the  Colony. 

The  histories  of  the  Convent  and  of  the  Colony  are  so 
intermingled  in  those  vears  of  war  and  suffering  that  in  the 
records  of  the  anc'e  -t  monastery  they  become  almost  as 
one. 

Mere  Stc.  !'  "•  •  •  had  succeeded  to  many  of  the 
blessings  po.irci  ual  upon  her  race  in  the  "  Adieux  "  of 
Grand-Pere  Voucher,  whose  last  testament  reminds  one  of 
dying  Jacob's  patriarchal  blessing  of  his  twelve  sons.  She 
was  a  woman  of  keen  intellect,  remarkable  power  of 
observation  and  facile  expression.  Under  her  snow-white 
wimple  beat  as  warm  a  heart  for  her  country  as  ever 
stirred  under  the  robe  of  a  statesman  or  the  gorget  of  a 
soldier. 

It  is  difficult  in  these  days  of  quiet  and  security  to 
realize  the  vivid  emotions  excited  in  the  Convent  by  the 
bloody  progress  of  the  war  with  England,  and  b}-  the 
hand-writing  upon  the  wall  which  to  some  of  the  nuns 
already  foreshadowed  the  downfall  of  New  France. 

The  annals  of  the  Cloister,  intended  only  to  record  the 
warfare  of  the  Church  and  the  triumphs  of  Faith,  are 
intermingled,  by  the  pen  of  Mere  Ste.  Helene,  with  vivid 
pictures  of  the  war,  and  filled  with  proofs  of  the  irre- 
pressible sympathies  of  the  nuns,  with  their  fathers, 
brothers  and  countrymen  in  arms  against  the  English  to 
preserve  that  New  France  so  dear  to  them  all. 

With  what  sorrow  that  old  recital,  the  I7eux  RecH^ 
records  the  defeats  and  disasters  of  the  French  arms  !  with 
what  joy  and  exultation  their  victories  !  iiut  through  good 
report  and  bad,  the  graphic  pen  of  Mere  Ste.  Helene  went 
on  to  the  end  of  her  book  and  the  end  of  her  life. 

When  the  se\-en  years'  war  broke  out.  Mere  Ste.  Helene 
was  still  the  annalist  of  the  old  monastery.  Her  spirit 
watched  eagerly  from  the  dim  cloister  the  movements  of  the 
armies  of  Montcalm  on  the  frontiers.  Her  joyous  pen 
records  in  strains  of  triumph  the  victories  of  Chouagen  and 
of  Carillon.  Ikit  as  the  war  progressed,  she  saw,  like 
others,  with  dismay,  that  the  Colony  was  abandoned  by 
France  to  its  own  feeble  and  ever  diminishing  resources 


^sLta^ittiii  n^»ii IE 


THE  LAMP  OF  REPENTfGiYY. 


64s 


The  circle  of  fire  narrowed  closer  and  closer  round  the 
Ca[)ital,  and  when  at  last  (Quebec  itself  was  surrounded  by 
the  En((lish,  when  Wolfe  was  pouring  shot  and  shell  for 
sixty  days  without  intermission  upon  the  devoted  city,  she 
knew  that  all  was  lost.  The  heart  of  the  patriotic  nun 
broke,  and  in  the  veiv  hour  when  the  heroic  Slontcahn  was 
lowered  into  his  grave,  which  was  a  cavity  made  by  the 
bursting  of  a  bomb,  in  the  Convent  Chapel,  Mere  Ste. 
Helene  breathed  her  last  with  the  despairing,  agonizing 
cry  :  "  Lc  f>a\s  est  a  has .' '"  ''  'I'he  Country  is  down  !  "  'I'he 
end  of  her  life  and  of  her  histtirv  ami  of  New  I'Vance  were 
finished  at  one  fatal  blow.  Mere  Migeon  closed  the  eyes  of 
the  dead  nun  with  a  kiss,  saying,  Rcqu'cscat  in  pace  !  Mere 
Ste.  Helene  broke  no  vow  in  loving  her  native  land  ! 

But  these  sad  events  lay  as  yet  in  the  womb  of  the 
future.  'I'he  peace  of  Ai.x-La-Chapelle  promised  for  the 
present  an  era  of  rest  and  recuperation  to  the  wasted  col- 
ony. The  pen  of  Mere  St.  Helene  had  just  recorded  the 
emotions  of  joy  and  thankfulness  which  animated  the  com- 
munity upon  tlie  peace  just  concluded  with  the  J^nglish. 

Mere  Mi<reon  had  directed  the  two  sorrowing  ladies  to 
be  brought  into  the  garden,  where  she  would  receive  them 
under  the  old  tree  of  Mere  Marie  de  T Incarnation, 

She  rose  with  affectionate  eagerness  as  they  entered, 
and  embraced  them  one  after  the  other,  kissing  them  on 
the  cheek,  "  her  little  prodigals  returning  to  the  house  of 
their  father  and  mother !  after  feeding  on  the  husks  of 
vanity  in  the  gay  world  which  was  never  made  for  tiiem. 
We  will  kill  the  fatted  calf  in  honor  of  your  return,  Amtflie. 
Will  we  not,  Mere  Esther?"  said  the  Lady  Superior,  ad- 
dressing Amelie  ratlier  than   Heloise. 

"  Not  for  me,  reverend  Mere  ;  you  shall  kill  no  fatted 
calf,  real  or  syml)olical,  for  me!"  exclaimed  Amelie.  "I 
come  only  to  hide  myself  in  your  cloister,  to  submit  my- 
self to  your  most  austere  discipline.  I  have  given  up  all.  O, 
my  Mere  !  I  have  given  up  all.  None  but  God  can  know 
what  I  have  given  up  forever  !  " 

"  You  were  to  have  married  the  son  of  the  Bourgeois, 
were  you  not,  Amelie?"  asked  the  Superior,  who,  as  the 
aunt  of  Varin,  and  bv  familv  ties  connected  with  certain 
leading  spirits  of  the  Grand  Company,  had  no  liking  for  the 
Bourgeois  Philibert  ;  her  feelings,  too,  had  been  wrought 
up  )U  by  a  recital  of  the  sermon  preached  in  the  market- 
place that  morning. 


'J 


''1': 


646 


77/i^  CHIEN  nOR. 


"  ?.  Speak  not  of  it,  good  Merc  !  I  was  betrothed  to 
Pierre  I'hiliherl,  and  how  am  I  reciuitiiif;  his  love  ?  I 
shouhl  have  been  his  wife  but  for  this  dreadful  deed  of 
my  brother.     The  Convent  is  all  that  is   left  to  me  now." 

*'  You  are  a  brave  girl,"  said  Orande-Mere  St.  Pierre, 
"  and  worthy  of  your  race.  Such  as  you  and  Heloise  are 
the  salt  that  saves  the  world,  and  brings  blessings  upon 
the  monastery  " 

Mere  St.  Helenc  had  already  recognized  and  embraced 
the  two  jrirls.  "  I  have  recorded  manv  dear  names  in  our 
annals,"  said  she,  "  but  none  with  the  gladness  I  shall 
have  in  recording  yours.  My  pleasure  is  doubled  because 
it  is  so  unexpected.  You  sow  in  sorrow,  but  you  shall 
reap  in  joy  !  " 

"I  fear  it  may  never  be,"  replied  Amdlie,  "but  I  may 
at  least  find  quiet  and  time  for  prayer.  I  know  that  ere 
long  I  shall  find  rest.  The  sword  has  passed  through  my 
soul  also  !  " 

"  Your  aunt  called  herself  the  humble  handmaid  of 
Mary,  and  the  lamp  of  Repentigny  will  burn  all  the  bri'^hter 
trimmed  by  a  daughter  of  her  noble  house,"  remarked 
Mere  Migeon. 

•'  By  two  daughters,  good  Mere  !  Heloise  is  equally  a 
daughter  of  our  house,"  replied  Amelie  with  a  touch  of 
feeling. 

*'  Was  to  have  been  her  sister,"  whispered  a  young 
novice  in  a  white  veil  to  another  who  had  gradually  ap- 
proached near  enough  to  the  old  ash-tree  to  hear  what  was 
said.  "  Heloise  was  to  have  been  the  bride  of  Le  Gardeur 
de  Repentigny !  " 

"  No  !  it  was  Angelique  des  Meloises  for  whom  Le 
Gardeur  ran  wild,  the}^  say.  He  would  have  married  her, 
but  she  jilted  him  ! "  replied  another  eagerly. 

"No!  you  are  both  wrong,"  whispered  a  third  little 
novice  ;  "  it  was  Angelique  was  to  have  married  the  In- 
tendant." 

"  But  she  refused  Le  Gardeur  all  the  same,  as  I  know 
from  the  best  authority.  My  sister  was  at  the  Intendant's 
ball,  and  overheard  part  of  a  conversation  between  her 
and  the  Intendant,"  interrupted  a  fourth  little  novice  with 
sparkling  black  eyes  and  Hushed  cheek,  "and  they  do  say 
he  has  a  wife  all  the  time  at  the  Chateau  of  Beaumanoir  !  " 

"  No,  she  is  not  his  wife !  my  aunt  de  Grandmaison 
heard  something  from  Madame  Varin  I  ''  replied  another. 


THE  LAMP  OF  RKrEA'TIGNY. 


647 


my 


"  And  Madame  Varin  knows  that  the  Intendant  is 
not  married,"  rejoined  another  noxice,  warmly.  Their 
voices  now  minj^led  in  sweet  confuijioii,  jangling  like  silver 
bells  as  they  all  talked  together. 

Mere  St.  Charles,  the  grave  mistress  of  the  novices, 
was  never  far  away  from  her  young  charge.  She  listened 
quietly  to  the  end  of  the  conversation,  and  then  confronted 
the  little  group  with  a  reproving  look,  that  caused  them  to 
blush  redder  than  peonies  at  being  caught  indulging  in  such 
worldly  conversation  as  about  balls  and  marriages  ! 

''  Come  with  me  to  the  chapel,  dear  children,"  said 
Mere  St.  Charles.  "W  must  all  repent  our  faults — you 
for  permitting  your  thoughts  to  take  delight  in  such  vain 
worldly  things — I  for  not  keeping  better  watch  over  your 
youth  and  inexperience.  Well  that  cvar  se\ere  Zelatrice, 
Mere  St.  Louis,  did  not  overhear  you,  instead  of  your  old 
indulgent  Mere  St.  Charles." 

"We  should  have  caught  it  in  earnest  then.  But  is  it 
wrong  to  speak  of  marriage,  good  Mere  ?  "  asked  Marie 
Cinciix — a  girl  somewhat  older  and  bolder  than  the  rest. 
"  M\  fathei  and  mother  were  married,  therefore  it  cannot 
be  wrong  to  marry,  and  the  Church  marries  people,  there- 
fore it  cannot  be  sinful  !  besides,  we  onlv  whisuered  !  " 

"The  sinful  thought,  Marie,  is  worse  than  the  whispered 
word,  and  bc<th  the  word  and  the  thing  are  forbidden  to 
us,"  replied  the  nun. 

"We  are  sad  sinners  then,"  remarked  Demoiselle 
Bedard,  a  pretty  cousin  of  Zoe  Ik'dard,  of  Charlebourg — a 
wild  young  creature,  who  when  she  was  at  last  broken  in, 
became  an  exemplary  nun,  and  in  time  the  most  bustling 
tante  of  the  Convent  kitchen,  where  she  has  left  a  recipe  for 
making  that  { wwow'f,  potagc  dii  Couvaii,  which  the  old  Bar- 
oness de  Longueil  said  was  tlv^  next  thing  to  the  sacra- 
ment, and  used  to  send  to  the  Convent  for  a  bowl  of  it 
every  day. 

"  VV^ell,  well,  my  children,"  continued  Mere  St.  Charles, 
"  never  more  speak,  even  in  whispe/s,  of  gentlemen,  or  of 
marriages,  except  your  own — when  you  became  the  brides 
of  heaven." 

"  Amen,  Mere  St.  Charles,  we  win  try  !  "  said  the  hum- 
bled novices,  who  with  drooping  heads  and  hands  clasped 
in  a  penitential  nianner,  followed  meekly  their  mistress,  and 
proceeded  to  the  Chapel  to  repent  of  their  grievous  fault. 


648 


Tirr.  c/rrE.v  lyoR. 


Mt're  Esther  whispered  a  few  words  in  the  ear  of  the  Supe- 
rior, bidding  her  concede  every  request  of  Ain^lie  and 
Heloise,  and  returned  to  the  wicket  to  answer  some  other 
hasty  call  from  the  troubled  city. 

Messenf^crs  despatched  by  IJonhomme  Michael  fol- 
lowed one  another  at  short  intervals,  brin^ini;  to  the  Con- 
vent  exact  details  of  all  that  occurred  in  the  streets,  with 
the  welconie  tidinu^s  at  last  that  the  threatened  outbreak 
had  lx!en  averted  by  the  prompt  inler|>osition  of  the  Gov- 
ernor and  troops.  (Comparative  quietness  again  reigned 
in  every  quarter  or  the  city. 

I^'  (lardeur  de  Rcpentigny  had  \'oluntarily  surrendered 
himself  to  the  guard  and  given  up  his  sword,  being  over- 
whelmed with  ren^orse  for  his  act.  He  had  been  placed — • 
not  in  irons,  as  he  demanded — but  as  a  prisoner  in  the 
strong  ward  of  the  Castle  of  St.  I^uis. 

'■•  I  pray  you,  Reverend  More  Superior,"  said  Amdlie, 
"permit  us  now  to  go  into  the  Chapel  of  Saints,  to  lay  our 
hearts  as  difl  our  kinswoman,  Madt;laine  de  Repentigny, 
at  the  feet  of  our  Lady  of  Grand  I'ouvoir." 

"■  Vto  my  children,  and  our  pravers  shall  go  with  you  !" 
replied  the  Superior,  '"the  lamp  of  Repentigny  will  burn 
bri<rhter  than  ever  to-niiilit  to  welcome  vou." 

'I'he  Chapel  of  Saints  was  held  in  reverence  as  the 
most  sacred  jilace  in  the  Monastery.  It  contained  the 
shrines  .\\\(\  relics  of  manv  s lints  and  martvrs.  The  de- 
vout  nuns  lavished  upon  it  their  choicest  works  of  embroid- 
ery, painting  and  gilding  in  tiie  arts  of  which  they  were 
eminent.  The  old  Sicristaine  was  kneeling  before  the 
altar  as  .\melie  and  Heloise  entered  the  Chapel. 

An  image  of  the  Virgin  occupied  a  niche  in  the  Chapel 
wall,  and  before  it  burned  the  silver  lamp  of  Repentigny 
which  hid  been  hung  there  two  generations  before,  in  mem- 
ory of  the  miraculous  call  of  Madelaine  de  RefXintigny, 
and  her  victory  over  the  world. 

The  high-bred  ami  beautiful  Madelaine  had  been  the 
delight  and  pride  of  Ville  Marie.  Stricken  with  grief  by 
the  death  of  a  young  officer  to  whom  she  was  affianced, 
she  retired  to  Quebec  and  knelt  daily  at  the  feet  of  our 
Lady  of  Pouvoir,  beseeching  her  for  a  sign  if  it  was  her 
will,  that  she  should  become  an  Ursuiine. 

The  sign  was  given  and  Madelaine  de  Repentigny  at 
once  exchanged  her  gay  robes  for  the  coarse  black  gown 


THE  LA.}fr  or  A'FF'F.Arr/cxy. 


649 


the 
the 
de- 
roid- 
were 
the 


^"y, 


at 

wn 


and  veil,  nnd  hun;^  up  this  votive  lamp  before  the  Madonna, 
as  a  perpetual  nieniorial  of  her  miraculous  call. 

Seven  generations  of  men  h;ive  j)assed  away  since  then. 
'I'lie  house  of  Kepenti^jny  has  disappeared  from  their  na- 
tive land.  Their  name  and  fame  lie  buried  in  oblivion, 
except  in  th;U  little  chapel  of  the  Saints,  where  their  lamp 
still  l)urns  l)ri<ihlly  as  ever!  The  |)iousnimsof  St.  Ursule, 
as  tlie  last  custodians  of  the  traditions  of  New  I'Vunce, 
j)reserve  that  sole  memorial  of  the  Ljlories  and  misfortunes 
of  the  noble  house, — the  Lamp  of  Repenti^ny. 

Amelie  and  Ileioise  remained  lon<j;  in  tiie  Chapel  of 
Saints  —  kneelini^  upon  the  hard  door  as  they  prayed 
wit!)  tears  and  sobs  for  the  sold  of  the  Hourjjjeois  and  for 
God's  pity  and  forgiveness  upon  Le  Gardeur. 

To  Amelie's  woes  was  added  the  terrible  conscioustiess 
that  by  this  (\c:(n\  of  her  i)rother,  I'ierre  Philibert  was  torn 
from  her  forever.  She  pictured  to  herself  his  ^''''-f'  '^'^ 
love,  his  despair,  perhaps  his  N'enujeance,  and  to  add  to  all, 
she,  his  betrothed  bride,  had  forsaken  him  and  lied  like 
a  guilty  thing  without  waiting  to  see  whether  he  condemn- 
ed her  ! 

An  hour  ago  Amelie  had  been  the  envy  and  delight 
of  her  gay  bridesmaids.  Her  heart  had  overllown  like 
a  fountain  of  wine,  intoxicating  all  about  her  with  joy 
at  the  hope  of  the  speedy  coming  of  her  bridegroom. 
Suddenly  the  idols  of  her  life  had  been  shattered  as 
by  a  thunder-bolt,  and  lay  in  fragments  round  her 
feet. 

The  thought  came  ui)on  her  like  the  rush  of  angry 
wings — she  knew  that  all  was  over  between  her  and  Pierre  I 
The  cloister  and  the  veil  were  all  that  were  left  to  Amelie 
de  kepi'nligny. 

'*  Me'loise  !  dearest  sister!  "  exclaimed  she,  "  mv  con- 
science  tells  me  I  have  done  right.  I)ut  my  heart  accuses 
me  of  wrong  to  Pierre  ;  of  falseness  to  my  plighted  \ows  in 
forsaking  him  ;  and  yet  not  for  heaven  itself  would  I  have 
forsaken  Pierre!  VVOuld  that  I  were  deid!  O  what  have 
I  tlone,  Heloise,  to  deserve  such  a  chastisement  as  this 
from  God  .?  " 

Amelie  threw  her  arms  round  the  neck  of  Heloise,  and 
leaning  her  head  on  her  bosom  wept  long  and  without  res- 
traint, for  none  saw  them  save  God  and  the  old  Sacristaine, 
who  observed   without  seeming  to  observe,   as  she  knelt 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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THE  CUT  EN  D'OR. 


\ 


silently,  countinj^  the  bends  of  her  rosary  and  repeating 
mechanically  the  formula  of  prayers  attached  to  them. 

"  Mere  Ste.  Vierf]^e  !  pray  for  me  !  "  continued  Amelie 
suddenly  apostroph-zing  the  old  nun,  who  now  regarded  her 
fixedly  from  under  the  white  fillet  that  covered  her  dark 
eyebrows,  "  I  am  unworthv  to  pray  for  myself!  I  plighted 
my  troth  before  God  and  all  the  Saints  to  marry  Pierre  Phili- 
bert !  and  to-day  1  forsake  him  in  order  to  atone  by  a  life 
of  sacrifice  for  the  iimocent  blood  that  lies  upon  the  house 
of  Repcntigny !  Mere  St.  Vierge  !  You  are  wise  in  the 
wav  of  salvation.  I'ell  me  if  mv  sin  against  Pierre  be  not 
greater  than  any  prayer  or  penance  can  ex])iate  ?  " 

Mere  St.  Vierge  looked  at  her  pityingly  and  not  without 
a  trace  of  wonder,  for  the  old  Sacristaine  had  been  so  long 
under  the  veil,  that  the  very  name  of  human  love  sounded 
to  her  like  a  word  of  an  unknown  tongue.  It  called  up  no 
blessed  association  and  woke  no  sympathy  or  only  the  most 
remote,  in  her  cold  saintly  bosom. 

"The  sin  would  have  been  greater,  Amelie,"  said  she 
quietly,  without  changing  a  muscle  of  her  placid  face,  "  had 
you  disobeyed  the  call  of  the  heavenly  voice.  It  seems  to 
you  harsh  and  cruel,  but  the  divine  rods  have  no  efficacy 
unless  they  sting  !  Fast  and  pray,  and  soon  they  will  not 
sting  at  all,  and  you  will  rejoice  in  the  stripes  of  your 
Lord  !  In  the  cloister  you  will  forget  your  earthly  bride- 
groom, in  the  joys  of  your  heavenly  one. 

"  Never,  good  Mere  !  I  can  never  forget  Pierre  Phili- 
bert !  I  pledged  my  word  to  him  and  have  broken  it !  I 
must  now  bury  in  my  heart  out  of  human  sight  the  love 
which  I  cannot  reward  with  my  hand !  " 

The  Sacristaine  shook  her  head  in  disapproval.  "The 
fashions  of  this  world  pass  away,"  said  she.  "  It  is  hard 
to  purge  the  affections  of  all  earthly  dross  ;  but  a  daughter 
of  Ste.  Angele  must  forsake  father  and  mother,  brothers 
and  sisters,  houses  and  lands,  in  a  word,  all  the  world  for 
Christ's  sake,  and  to  inherit  eternal  life !  For  thirty  years  I 
have  fed  this  sacred  lamj^  of  your  house,  and  now  the 
heiress  herself  of  Repentigny  comes  to  take  my  place! 
LtiHs  Deo .'-'' 

O  Mere !  you  do  not  know  and  cannot  understand  how 
great  a  sorrow  has  befallen  AmeMie  !  "  exclaimed  He'loise, 
heroically  concealing  the  wound  in  her  own  bosom. 

"  I  do  know  and  I  do  understand  !  "  replied  the  nun  ;  I 


THE  LAMP  OF  REPEXTIGNY. 


651 


The 
hard 
ghter 
thers 
d  for 
ars  I 
the 
lace ! 

how 
loise, 


was  twenty  when  the  Lord  cauj^ht  mc  in  his  net,  and  drew 
me  from  the  waters  of  vanity  and  sin,  hut  I  set  at  detiance 
even  my  Lord,  until  he  sent  the  angel  of  death  to  the  house 
of  him  I  loved,  to  subdue  me  by  the  loss  of  my  sole  earthly 
hope  !  " 

Amelie  was  touched  by  the  words  of  the  nun,  which 
seemed  i  refiection  of  her  own  thoughts.  She  raised  her 
hand  and  kissed  it. 

"Mere  Ste,  Vierge  !  "  said  she,  "forgive  me.  Sorrow 
makes  us  selfish,  and  we  think  there  are  no  troubles  but 
our  own  !  L'.'t  me  follow  in  your  footsteps!  C),  Mere, 
they  say  you  subject  yourself  to  the  severest  discipline  of 
fasting,  prayer  and  vigils  ;  teach  me  I  pray  you,  teach  me 
the  hardest  service  in  this  house — I  will  perform  it," 

"  Ameli  de  Repentigny  !  think  before  you  offer  to  fol- 
low in  my  footsteps  !  Can  you  f  ist  all  day  and  stand  with 
naked  feet  all  niglu  upon  the  cold  floor  of  the  sanctuary.? 
Can  you  with  bruised  knees  traverse  the  via  cnicis  hour 
after  hour  from  midp.ight  until  the  bell  rings  for  matins  ? 
Can  vou  begin  the  work  of  the  dav  at  the  first  hour  and 
resolutely  keep  on  till  the  last,  and  yet  ne\'er  feel  tliat  you 
are  aught  but  an  unprofitable  servant  of  your  Lord  ? " 

The  Sacristaine  migiit  have  added,  but  refrained  through 
fear  of  seeming  proud  of  her  self-humiliation,  that  she 
wore  the  coarsest  sackcloth  under  her  black  robe,  and  it 
was  even  whispered  among  the  nuns  that  her  shoulders 
were  scarred  with  the  self-infiicted  scourge, 

"  Alas  !  Mere,  if  your  venial  sins  call  for  such  chastise- 
ment, what  penance  is  not  due  from  me  for  the  sin  of  my 
brother,  which  I  desire  to  expiate  by  suffering  ?  "  replied 
Amelie,  sadlv. 

The  Sacristaine  let  her  hands  fall  in  her  lap,  and  looked 
at  her  admiringly. 

"Daughter,"  said  she,  "rejoice  in  your  tribulation! 
What  says  blessed  St.  Thomas  ?  '  Temptations  and  trials 
are  profitable  although  they  be  troublesome  and  grievous, 
for  in  them  we  are  humbled,  purified  and  exalted.'  " 

"  Alas,  Mere  !  "  replied  Amelie,  "  I  am  humbled  beyond 
all  humiliation,  and  wish  only  to  hide  myself  from  every 
mortal  eye," 

"  Amelie,"  said  the  nun,  impressively,  "  If  thou  carry 
thy  cross  willingly,  it  will  carry  thee,  and  bring  thee  to  thy 
desired  end ! " 


e$2 


THE  Cf/fEN  D'OR. 


"  I  know  it,  Mere  !  e     'I  had  not  come  to  this  place  !  " 
"  Listen  !  "  interrupted   the   nun,  raisinj;  her   pale,  thin 
finger  as  the  swelling  strain  of  the  organ  Hoated  up  froni 
the  convent  chapel.     The  soft  voices  of  the  nuns  mingled  in 
plaintive  haruKMiy  as  they  sang  the  hymn  of  the  Virgin  : 


"  Pia  Mater  !  Fons  amoris  ! 
Ml.'  scntirc  vim  doloris, 
Fac,  lit  tecum  lugcam  !  " 

"  Listen  again  !  "  continued  the  nun,  "  they  who  sow  in 
tears  shall  reap  in  joy,  hut  only  in  paradise  !  " 

Again  came  the  soft  pleading  notes  of  the  sacred  Jiymn : 

"  Quaiulo  C()r])iis  morietur 
Fac  lit  aiiiinac  donctur 
Paradisi  gloria  !  Amen !  " 

The  harmony  filled  the  ears  of  Ami'die  and  Heloise, 
like  the  lap  of  the  waves  of  eternity  upon  the  world's  shore. 
It  died  away,  and  they  continued  praying  before  our  Lady 
of  (Irand  Pouvoir,  while  the  Sacristaine  kept  on  reciting 
her  appointed  litanies  and  supjilications,  half  immindful  of 
their  presence. 

The  silence  was  suddenly  broken.  Hasty  steps  traversed 
the  little  chapel.  A  rush  of  garments  caused  AmtMie  and 
Heloise  to  turn  round  and  in  an  instant  they  were  both 
chisped  ill  the  passit)nate  embrace  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly 
who  had  airived  at  the  Convent. 

"  My  dear  children,  my  poor  stricken  daughters  !  "  ex- 
claimed she,  kissing  them  passionately  and  mingling  her 
tears  with  theirs,  "  what  have  you  done  to  be  dashed  to 
the  earth  by  such  a  stroke  of  divine  wrath  ?  " 

O  !  aunt  !  pardon  us  for  what  we  have  done  !  "  exclaim- 
ed Anielie,  and  for  not  asking  your  consent,  but  alas  !  it  is 
(iod's  will  and  doing!  I  have  given  up  the  world,  do  not 
blame  me,  aunt !  " 

"  Nor  me,  aunt !  "  added  Heloise,"  I  have  long  known 
that  the  cloister  was  my  sole  heritage,  and  I  now  claim  it." 

"  Blame  you,  darling !  O  Amc'lie  !  in  the  shame  and 
agonv  of  this  dav  I  could  share  the  cloister  with  \o\\  nivself, 
forexer,  but  my  work  is  out  in  the  wide  world,  and  I  must 
not  withdraw  my  hand  I  " 

"Have  you  seen  Le  Gardeur  ?  O,  aunt !  have  you  seen 


place !  " 
ale,  tiiiii 
lip  from 
ingled  in 
iigin : 


o  sow  in 

[  Jiymn : 


Heloise, 
s  shore, 
ur  Lady 
reciting 
:n(lful  of 

aversed 
ilie  and 
re  both 
e  Tilly 

!  "  ex- 

Ing-  her 
hed  to 

kdaim- 
it  is 
do  not 

(<nn\vn 
(m  it." 
and 
jiyself, 
nuisf 

seen 


r//£  LAMP  OF  REPENTIGNY.  653 

my  brother?"  asked   Amclie,   seizing  her  hand    passion- 
ately. 


« 


I  have  seen  him,  and  wept  over  him,"  was  the  reply. 
O  Amdlie !  great  as  is  his  olTence,  his  crime — yes,  I  will 
be  honest  calling  it  such — no  decjier  contrition  conlfl  rend 
his  heart  had  he  c(Mnmitleel  ill  the  sins  forbidden  in  the 
decalogue.  He  demands  a  court  martial  to  condenm  him 
at  once  to  death,  upon  his  own  self  accusation  and  confes- 
sion of  the  murder  of  the  good  I^ourgeois." 

"O,  aunt  !  and  he  loved  the  IJourgeois  so!  It  seems 
like  a  hideous  dream  of  fright  and  nightmare  !  that  Le 
Gardeur  should  assail  the  father  of  Pierre  Pliilibert  and 
mine  that  was  to  be  I" 

At  this  thought  the  poor  girl  flung  herself  upon  the  bosom 
of  the  l^adv  de  Tillv,  convulsed  and  torn  bv  as  bitter  sobs 
as  ever  drew  human  pity. 

*' Le  Gardeur  I  Le  (jardeur  !  Good  God  !  what  will  they 
do  with  him,  aunt?  Is  he  to  die  ?"  cried  she,  imploringly, 
as  with  streaming  eyes  she  looked  up  at  her  aunt. 

"Listen,  Amelie!  Compose  yourself  and  you  shall  hear. 
It  was  in  the  Church  of  Notre  Dame  des  Victoires,  when  I 
received  the  tidings.  It  was  long  before  the  messenger 
found  me.  I  rose  instantly  and  hastencrl  to  the  house  of 
the  Bourgeois,  where  its  good  master  lay  dead  in  his  bloody 
vesture,  I  cannot  describe  the  sad  sight,  Amelie  !  I  there 
learned  that  the  Governor  and  La  Corne  St.  Liu:  had  been 
to  the  house  of  the  Bourgeois  and  had  returned  to  the 
Castle." 

"0,  aunt !  .did  you  see  him  ?  Did  you  see  the  good  old 
Bourgeois  ?  and  you  know  he  is  dead  !  " 

"  Yes,  Amdlie  !  I  saw  him,  and  could  have  wished  my 
eye-sight  blasted  fore\er  aftfr.      Do  not  ask  me  more." 

"  But  I  nuist,  aunt !  did  you  see?  (),  why  may  I  not  yet 
utter  his  dear  name  ?     Did  you  see  Pierre  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  Amelie  !  Pierre  came  unexpectedly  home  while  I 
was  weeping  over  the  dead  corpse  of  his  fathc-r.  Poor 
Pierre!  mv  own  sorrows  were  naught  to  his  silent  grief! 
It  was  more  terrible  than  the  wildest  outburst  of  passion 
I  ever  saw  !  " 

"And  what  did  he  say?  O,  aunt,  tell  me  all!  do  not 
spare  me  one  word,  however  bitter!  Did  he  not  curse  you  ? 
Did  he  not  curse  me?  And  above  all,  \.v  Gardeur?  (),  he 
cursed  us  all  !  he  heaped  a  blasting  malediction  upon  the 
whole  house  of  Repentigny,  did  he  not  ?  " 


654 


THE  CrriEX  D'OR. 


"  Aindlie,  be  composed  !  do  not  look  at  me  so  wildly 
with  thesL'  dear  eyes,  and  1  will  tell  you."  Her  aunt  tried 
to  sooth  her  with  fond  caresses. 

"  1  will  be  composed  I  I  am  calm  !  Look  now,  aunt,  I 
am  calm  !  "  exclaimed  the  grief-stricken  girl,  whose  every 
nerve  \vas  quivering  with  wild  excitement. 

I'he  Lady  de  'I'illy  and  Heloise  made  her  to  sit  down, 
while  each  held  forcibly  a  hand  to  prevent  an  access  of 
hysteria.  Mi're  Ste.  Vierge  rose  and  hastily  left  the  chapel 
to  fetch  water. 

"Amelie!  the  nobleness  of  Pierre  Philibert  is  almost 
beyond  the  range  of  fallible  mortals,"  said  the  Larly  de  Tilly. 
*'  In  the  sudden  crash  of  all  his  hopes  he  would  not  utter  a 
word  of  invective  against  your  brother.  His  heart  tells  him 
that  Le  Gardeur  has  been  made  the  senseless  instrument 
of  others  in  this  crime." 

"  A  thousand  thanks !  dearest  aunt,  for  your  true  ap- 
preciation of  Pierre  !  I  know  he  deserves  it  all  !  and  when 
the  veil  covers  my  head  forever  from  the  eyes  of  men,  it 
will  be  my  sole  joy  to  reflect  that  Pierre  Philibert  was 
worthy,  more  than  worthy,  of  my  love  I  But  vvluU  said  he 
further  ?     Aunt,  O  tell  m'e  all." 

*'  He  rose  from  his  knees  beside  the  corpse  of  his 
father,"  continued  the  Lady,  "  and  seeing  me  kneeling 
raised  me  and  seated  me  in  a  chair  beside  him.  He  asked 
me  where  you  were  }  and  who  was  with  you  to  support  and 
comfort  you  in  this  storm  of  affliction  ?     I  told  him,  and 


he   kissed    me. 


exclaiming 


O    Aunt!      Mother!      What 


shall  I  do.?'" 

"Oaunt!  did  Pierre  say  that  ?  Did  he  call  you  aunt 
and  mother?  and  he  did  not  curse  me  at  all?  Poor 
Pierre  !  "  And  she  burst  out  into  a  flood  of  tears,  which 
nothing  could  control. 

"  Yes  Amelie  !  His  heart  is  bleeding  to  death  with 
this  dreadful  sword-stroke  of  Le  Gardeur's,"  said  the 
Lady  de  Tilly,  after  waiting  till  she  recovered  somewhat. 

"  And  will  he  not  slay  Le  Gardeur  ?  Will  he  not  deem 
it  his  duty  to  kill  my  brother  and  his  ? "  cried  she.  "  He  is 
a  soldier  and  must  !  " 

"  Listen,  Amelie  !  There  is  a  divinity  in  Pierre  that  we 
only  see  in  the  noblest  of  men  ;  he  will  not  slay  Le  Gardeur. 
He  is  his  brother  and  yours,  and  will  regard  him  as  such. 
Whatever  he  might  have  done  in  the  first  impulse  of  anger, 


THE  LAMP  OF  REPE.^TIGXY. 


65s 


i  SO  wildly 
aunt  tried 

)vv,  aunt,  I 
lose  every 

sit  down, 
access  of 
he  chapel 

is  ill  most 
y  de  Tilly, 
lot  utter  a 
L  tells  him 
istrunient 

'  true  ap- 
aiul  when 
)f  men,  it 
ibert  was 
t  said  he 

e  of  his 
kneeling: 
e  asked 
port  and 
him.  and 
What 

'ou  aunt 

?"     Poor 

1^,  which 

ith  with 
laid    the 
Iwhat. 
It  deem 
1'  He  is 

that  we 

lirdeur. 

such. 

I  anger, 


Pierre  will  not  now  seek  the  life  of  Le  CJardeur.  He  knows 
too  well  whence  this  blow  has  really  come.  He  has  been 
deeply  touched  by  the  remorse  an  i  self-accusation  of 
Le  Oardeur." 

"I  could  kiss  his  feet!  my  noble  Pierre!  O  Aunt! 
Annt  1  what  have  I  not  lost  !  But  I  was  bi'throthed  to  him, 
was  I  not  ?  "  She  started  up  with  a  shriek  of  mortal 
agony.  "They  never  can  recall  that!"  she  cried  wildly. 
"  He  was  to  have  been  mine  !  He  is  still  mine,  and  for- 
ever will  be  mine  1  Death  will  reunite  what  in  life  is 
sundered!     Will  it  not,  Aunt  ?" 

"  Yes,  be  composed,  darlinj;  !  and  I  will  tell  you  more, 
nay  do  not  look  at  me  so,  Amelie  !  "  the  Lady  de  I'illy 
stroked  her  cheek  and  kissed  the  dark  eyes  that  seemed 
flarin<i^  out  of  their  sockets  with  maddeninej  excitement. 

"  When  1  had  recovered  sirenj;th  enough  to  go  to  the 
castle  to  see  the  C'ount,  Pierre  siii)|)orted  me  thither.  He 
dared  not  trust  himself  to  see  Le  Gardeur,  who  from  his 
prison  sent  message  after  message  to  him  to  beg  death  at 
his  hand." 

''  I  held  a  brief  conference  with  the  Governor,  La  Corne 
St,  Luc  and  a  few  gentlemen,  who  were  hastily  gathered 
together  in  the  council  chamber.  I  pleaded  long,  not  for 
pardon,  not  even  for  Le  Gardeur  could  I  ask  for  pardon, 
Amelie!"  exclaimed  the  just  and  noble  woman,  "but  for  a 
calm  consideration  of  the  terrible  circumstances  which  had 
surrounded  him  in  the  Palace  of  the  Intendant,  and  which 
had  led  directly  to  the  catastrophe." 

*'  And  what  said  they  .'*  O  be  quick.  Aunt  !  Is  not 
Le  Gardeur  to  be  tried  by  martial  law  and  condemned  at 
once  to  death  ?  " 

"  No,  Amelie  !  The  Count  de  la  Gallissoniere,  with  the 
advice  of  his  wisest  counsellors,  among  whom  is  your  god- 
father and  others,  the  dearest  friends  of  both  families,  have 
resolved  to  send  Le  Gartleur  to  France,  by  the  Flcur  de 
Lys^  which  sails  to-morrow.  They  do  this  in  order  that  tiie 
king  may  judge  of  his  offence,  as  also  to  prevent  the 
conflict  that  may  arise  between  the  Cf)ntending  factions  in 
the  colony,  should  they  try  him  here.  'I'his  resolution  may 
be  wise  or  not.  I  do  not  judge,  but  such  is  the  determina- 
tion of  the  Governor  and  Council,  to  which  all  must 
submit." 

Amelie   held   her  head  between  her  palms  for  some 


I 


656 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR, 


mM 


'M  n 


\  ' 


moments.  She  was  violently  agitated,  but  she  tried  to 
consider  as  best  she  might,  the  decision  with  regard  to  her 
brotlK.T. 

"  It  is  merciful  in  them  I"  she  said,  "and  it  is  just  I 
The  king  will  judge  what  is  right  in  the  sight  of  God  and 
man  !  Le  Gardour  was  but  a  l)lind  instrument  of  others  in 
this  murder,  as  blind  almost  as  the  sword  he  held  in 
his  hand,  liut  shall  I  not  see  him,  Aunt,  before  he 
is  sent    away  ?  " 

"  Alas,  no  1  'J'he  Governor,  while  kind,  is  inexorable  on 
one  point.  He  will  permit  no  one  after  this  to  see  Le  Gar- 
deur,  to  express  either  blame  or  approval  of  his  iXtt^tA,  or  to 
report  his  words.  He  will  forbid  you  and  me  and  his 
nearest  friends  from  holding  any  connnunication  with  him 
before  he  leaves  the  colony.  The  Count  has  remitted  his 
case  to  the  king,  and  resolved  that  it  shall  be  accompanied 
,by  no  self-accusations  which  Le  Gardeur  may  utter  in  his 
frantic  grief.  The  Count  does  this  in  justice  as  well 
as  mercy,  Amdlie  !  " 

"  1'hen  I  shall  never  see  my  brother  more  in  this 
world  !  Never  !  "  exclaimed  Ame'lie,  supporting  herself  on 
the  arm  of  Heloise.  His  fate  is  decided  as  well  as  mine, 
and  yours  too,  O  Heloise !  " 

"  It  may  not  be  so  hard  with  him  as  with  us,  Amelie  ! " 
replied  Heloise,  whose  bosom  was  agitated  with  fresh 
emotions  at  every  allusion  to  Le  Gardeur.  "The  king 
may  pardon  him,  Amelie  1  "  Heloise  in  her  soul  hoped  so, 
and  in  her  heart  prayed  so. 

"  Alas  !  If  we  could  say  God  pardoned  him  I  "  replied 
Ame'lie,  her  thoughts  running  suddenly  in  a  counter- 
current.  "  But  my  life  must  be  spent  in  imploring  God's 
grace  and  forgiveness  all  the  same,  whether  man  forgive 
him  or  no." 

"  Say  not  my  life,  but  our  lives,  Ame'lie  !  We  have 
crossed  the  threshold  of  this  house  together  for  the 
last  time  !  We  go  no  tnore  out  to  look  upon  a  world 
fair  and  beautiful  to  see,  but  so  full  of  disappointment  and 
wretchedness  to  have  experience  of  !  " 

"  My  daughters  !  "  exclaimed  the  Lady  de  Tilly,  "ano- 
ther time  we  will  speak  of  this  !  Harken,  Ame'lie  !  I  did 
not  tell  you  that  Pierre  Philibert  came  with  me  to  the  gate 
of  the  Convent  to  see  you.  He  would  have  entered,  but 
the  Lady  Superior  refused  inexorably  to  admit  him  even  to 
the  parlor.  " 


tried  to 
rd  to  her 

is  just ! 
God  and 
others  in 

held  in 
cfore    he 

)r.ible  on 
Le  Gar- 

:L'd,  or  to 
and  liis 
ivith  him 
lifted  his 
inpanied 
sr  in  his 
as  well 

;  in  this 
erself  on 
as  mine, 

Lme'lie  ! " 
th  fresh 
he  king 
oped  so, 


'  replied 

counter- 

ii;  God's 

forgive 

'e   have 

|for    the 

,  world 

Mit  and 

,  **ano- 
I  did 
Ihe  gate 
red,  but 
I even  to 


T//E  LAMP  OF  KF.rF.XTlG XV. 


657 


"Pierre  came  to  the  Convent?  to  the  Convent?"  re- 
peated Amelie  with  fond  iteration,  "and  thi'v  would  not 
admit  him!  VVhv  would  tliev  not  admit  him  ?  Hut  I  should 
have  died  of  shame  to  see  him  !  They  \\('re  kind  in  their 
cruelty.  Poor  Pierre  I  he  thinks  me  still  worthy  of  some 
regard!  "     She  commenced  weeping  afresh. 

"He  would  fain  have  seen  vou,  dirlin'!"  said  her 
Aunt.  "Your  Hight  to  the  Convent,  In*  knows  what  it 
means,  overwhelms  him  with  a  new  c.il  imit\  !  " 

"And  yet  it  cannot  be  otherwise  !  1  dare  not  place  my 
hand  in  his  now,  for  it  would  redden  it  I  IJut  it  is  swoet 
amid  my  affliction  to  know  that  I'ierre  has  not  forgotten 
me,  that  he  does  not  hate  me,  na\-,  that  he  still  loves  me  ! 
although  I  abandon  the  world  and  him  who  to  me  was  the 
light  of  it  !     Why  would  they  not  admit  him  V 

"  Mbre  Migeon  is  as  hard  as  she  is  just,  Amelie! 
I  think  too  she  lias  no  love  for  the  IMuliberts.  Her  ni'pliew 
Varin  has  all  the  influence  of  a  spoilt  son  over  the  L  i.ly 
Superior." 

Ame'lie  scarcely  regarded  the  last  remark  of  her  aunt, 
but  repeated  the  words  "hard  and  just!  Yes,  it  is  true, 
and  hardness  and  justice  are  what  I  crave  in  my  misery! 
The  flintiest  couch  shall  be  to  me  a  bed  of  down  I  the 
scantiest  fare,  a  royal  feast!  the  hardest  penance  a  life  of 
pleasure!  Mere  Migeon  cannot  be  more  hard  nor  more 
just  to  me  than  I  would  be  to  myself!" 

"My  poor  Amelie!  My  poor  Heloise  !  "  repeated  the 
Lady,  stroking  their  hair  and  kissing  them  both  alternately, 
"be  it  as  God  wills!  \Yhen  it  is  dark  every  prospect  lies 
hid  in  the  darkness,  but  it  is  there  all  the  same,  though  we 
see  it  not!  but  when  the  day  returns  everything  is  reveal  jd  ! 
We  see  nought  before  us  now.  but  the  image  of  our  Lidy 
of  Grand  Pouvoir  illumined  by  the  lamp  of  Repentigny, 
but  the  sun  of  righteousness  will  yet  arise  with  healing  on 
his  wings  for  us  all  !  " 

"But  O,  my  children!  let  nothing  be  done  hastily, 
rashly,  or  unbecoming  the  daughters  of  our  honorable 
house." 

4» 


i 


Ik 


'i  I 


658 


T//E  CHIEN  nOR. 


%-. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 
"lovely  in  death  the  beauteous  rufn  lay." 

The  chant  of  vespers  had  \o\v^  ceased.  The  angelus 
had  run^  its  hist  suinnions  to  invoke  a  l)lessin<;  upon  life 
and  death  at  the  close  of  the  day.  'I'he  quiet  nuns  tiled  off 
from  their  frugal  meal  in  the  long  refectory  and  betook 
themselves  to  (he  ('oinmunity  or  to  their  peaceful  cells. 
The  troop  of  children  in  their  charge  had  been  sent 
with  prayer  to  their  little  couches  in  the  dormitory,  sacred 
to  sleep  and  hapjiy  dreams. 

Candles  flickered  through  the  long  passa<:;es  as  veiled 
figures  slowly  and  noiselessly  passed  towards  the  chapel  to 
their  private  devotions.  Scarcely  a  footfall  rcniched  the 
ear,  nor  sound  of  any  kind,  except  the  sweet  voice  of  M^re 
Madelaine  de  St.  Borgia.  Like  the  flow  of  a  full  stream  in 
the  still  moonlight,  she  sang  her  canticle  of  praise  to  the 
guardian  of  the  house,  before  she  retired  to  rest — 

"  Ave,  Joseph  !     Fill  David  Juste  ! 
Vir  Maiia;  de  qua  natus  est  Jesus  !  " 

Lady  de  Tilly  sat  listening  as  she  held  the  hands  of 
two  nieces,  thinking  how  merciless  was  Fate,  and  half 
rebelling  in  her  mind  against  the  working  of  Providence. 
The  sweet  song  of  Mere  St.  P)orgia  fell  like  soft  rain  upon 
her  hard  thoughts,  and  instilled  a  spirit  of  resignation 
amid  the  darkness,  as  she  repeated  the  words  ''''Ave 
yoscph."^  She  fought  bitterly  in  her  soul  against  giving 
up  her  two  lambs,  as  she  called  them,  to  the  cold 'scant 
life  of  the  cloister,  while  her  judgment  saw  but  too  plainly, 
that  nought  else  seemed  left  to  their  crushed  and  broken 
spirits.  But  she  neither  suggested  their  withdrawal  from 
the  convent,  nor  encouraged  them  to  remain. 

In  her  secret  thought,  the  Lady  de  Tilly  regarded  the 
cloister  as  a  blessed  refuge  for  the  broken-hearted,  a  rest 
for  the  weary  and  overladen  with  earthly  troubles,  a  living 
grave,  which  such  may  covet  and  not  sin  ;  but  the  young, 
the  joyous,  the  beautiful,  and  all  capable  of  making  the 


angeUis 
poll   life 

filed  off 
I  betook 
111  cells. 
3en  sent 
f,  sacred 

IS  veiled 
;h;ipel  to 
:hed  the 
of  Mfere 
itream  in 
se  to  the 


lands  of 

md  half 

idence. 

m  upon 

ignation 

"  Ave 

giving 

d  "scant 

plainly, 

broken 

,'al  from 

led  the 
ll,  a  rest 

la  living 

young, 

ting  the 


" LOVEL  Y  IN  DEA T//;'  E TC. 


6S9 


world  fairer  and  better,  she  would  inexorably  shut  out! 
Christ  calls  not  these  from  the  earthl\'  paradise,  but  the 
aftlicted,  the  disappointed,  the  despairing:  they  who  have 
fallen  helplessly  down  in  the  journey  of  life,  and  are 
of  no  further  use  in  this  world,  tluse  he  calls  by  their 
names  and  comforts  them.  Hut  for  those  rare  souls  who 
are  too  cold  for  aught  but  s[)irilual  joys,  He  reserves 
a  peculiar  though  not  his  choi -est  benediction. 

The  Lady  de  Tilly  pondered  these  thoughts  over  and 
over  in  the  fulness  of  pity  for  her  children.  She  would  not 
leave  the  convent  at  the  closing  of  the  gales  for  the  night, 
but  remained  the  honoied  guest  of  Mere  Migeon,  who 
ordered  a  chamber  to  be  prepared  for  her  in  a  style  that 
was  lu.xurious  compared  with  the  scantily  furnished  rooms 
allotted  to  the  nuns. 

Amelie  prevailed,  after  nuuh  entreaty.  up(^n  M^re 
Esther,  to  intercede  with  the  Superior  for  permission 
to  pass  the  night  with  Heloise  in  the  cell  that  had  once 
been  occupied  by  her  jiioiis  kinswoman,  Mere  Madelainc. 

"It  is  a  great  thing  to  ask!"  ie|)lied  Mc  '  Esther 
as  she  returned  with  the  desired  boon,  "and  a  gie.iter  still 
to  obtain  it !  But  Mere  Migeon  is  in  a  benevolent  mood 
to-night,  for  the  sake  of  no  one  else  would  she  have 
granted  a  dispensation  of  the  rules  of  the  house," 

■  In  truth  the  venerable  Superior  wps  overjoyed  by  the 
arrival  of  so  distinguished  a  postulante  as  Amc'lie  de  Re- 
pentigny.  She  regarded  it  as  a  special  answer  to  her 
fervent  and  frequent  prayers  for  the  restoration  to  the 
community  of  the  prosperity  they  had  enjo\t  tl  before  the 
war.     The  Lady  Superior  refused  Amelie  nothing. 

The  two  postulantes  were  conducted  by  Merc  Esther 
through  a  long  passage,  on  one  side  of  which  opened  the 
doors  of  the  chambers  of  the  nuns,  each  cell  with  its  soli- 
tary tenant,  asleep  after  repeating  her  pious  mcmorare,  or 
awake  and  reciting  it  over  again. 

Mere  Esther  stopped  before  a  closed  door,  over  which 
was  painted  in  black  letters,  the  sacred  text,  ''Come  unto 
me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  1  will  give 
you  rest." 

"This  was  the  cell  of  the  faithful  handmaid  of  Mary, 
your  beloved  aunt.  Mere  Madelaine,"  remarked  Mbre 
Esther,  as  she  opened  the  door. 


H'    St? 


:i  (< 


m 


ifl 


660 


77/i^  crrrEX  d'or. 


**  I  know  it,"  replied  Amelie.  "  It  is  a  narrow  havers, 
but  it  will  hold  my  small  and  shattered  hark.  The  spirit 
of  my  kinswoman  lin-^crs  here,  and  it  will  help  me  to  learn 
the  hard  lesson  (if  resignation." 

"Our  Loid,  who  wepi  at  Hethany,  will  weep  with  you, 
my  children,"  ruplii'd  Mere  I'lslher,  kissintj  the  youn^ 
poslulantes  as  she  hade  them  j;ood  ni_L(ht  and  k-ft  them, 
with  tears  of  true  womanly  sympathy  upon  her  aged  cheek. 

"  1  feel  a  cold  bn-ath,  as  it  were  a  j;reeting  from  the 
spirit  of  our  kinswoman,"  said  Anielie,  as  she  entered  the 
little  room,  which  revealed  in  the  lif^ht  of  the  lamp  she 
carried,  a  couch  of  spotless  drapery,  but  hard  as  the  bed 
of  an  ancdiorite,  a  chair  or  two  of  wood,  ai)lain  table,  upon 
which  lay  a  few  books  of  devotion,  and  in  a  little  recess, 
a  picture  of  the  weepin<;  Madonna,  wrouj;hi  in  silk— a 
master|)iece  of  needlework  from  the  hands  of  Mere 
Madelaine. 

"  'I'he  eml)roiderin<:;  of  that  saved  her  life,"  whispered 
Amelie  holding;  up  the  lamp  as  she  knelt  reverently  before 
it.  "  For  in  tnat  she  wrou_i;ht  the  grief  of  her  soul  for  the 
loss  of  Julian  Lemoine.  It  is  a  memorial  of  her  agony  for 
his  death  upon  the  field  of  battle.  iUit  she  is  now  happy 
with  Julian,  think  \  ou  n.ot  so,  He'loise  .''" 

"I  pray  so!  Nay,  1  believe  it,  Amelie!  But  Aunt 
Madelaine's  fate  was  enviable  compared  with  ours.  To  lose 
the  dead  is  hard,  but  it  may  be  borne ;  but  to  lose  the 
living  and  live  on  and  remember  daily  our  loss — who  can 
endure  that,  Amelie?" 

The  lamp  shed  a  melancholy  radiance  over  the  sugges- 
tive picture.  The  two  girls  knelt  together  and  wept,  and 
jDrayed  for  hours  uncoimted  by  themselves.  Only  God 
counted  them,  and  put  all  their  tears  in  His  b(Htle,  as  the 
Hebrew  prophet  quaintly  describes  the  tender  Care  of  the 
Lord  for  his  children  of  al^iction. 

Ladv  de  Tillv  held  that  ni<rht'a  long  and  serious  con- 
ference  with  Mere  Migeon  and  Mere  Esther,  upon  the 
event  which  had  driven  her  nieces  to  the  Cloister,  piom- 
ising  that  if,  at  the  end  of  a  month,  they  persisted  in  their 
resolution,  she  would  consent  to  their  assumption  of  the 
white  veil,  and  upon  the  completion  of  their  noviciate, 
when  they  took  the  Ihial  vows,  she  would  give  them  up 
with  such  a  dower  as  would  make  all  former  gifts  of  the 
house  of  Repentigny  and  Tilly  poor  in  the  comparison. 


\ 


w  liaven, 

he  spirit 

to  learn 

iVitli  yoii, 
e    young 

ft    'tlUMll, 

d  check, 
from  the 
cred  I  lie 
unp  she 
I  lie  bed 
le,  upon 
e  recess, 
silk— a 
)f    Mere 

hispered 
y  before 
1  for  the 
'j,ony  for 
IV  happy 

t   Aunt 

To  lose 

ose   the 

ho  can 


sugges- 
■)t,  and 
y  God 
as  the 
of  the 


IS  con- 
'ti  the 
|)roni- 
II  their 
of  the 
•iciate, 
em  up 
of  the 
)n. 


"  LOVEL  Y  IN  DEA  Tlf,"  E  TC. 


66i 


Mbre  Migcon  was  especially  overjoyed  at  this  pros- 
pect of  relieving  the  means  of  her  housi-,  which  had  been 
so  terribly  straitened  of  late  years.  The  losses  occasioned 
by  the  war  had  been  a  never  ending  source  of  anxiety  to 
her  and  Mere  Ksther,  who,  however,  kept  tlu'ir  troubles, 
as  far  as  possil)le,  to  themselves,  in  order  that  the  cares 
of  the  world  might  not  encroach  too  far  upon  the  minds  of 
the  Community.  Hence,  the\'  svere  more  than  ordinarily 
glad  at  this  double  vocation  in  the  house  of  Repentigny. 
The  piospect  of  its  great  wealth  falling  to  pious  uses,  tliey 
regarded  as  a  special  mark  of  I)i\ine  Providence  and  care 
for  the  house  of  Ste.  Trsule. 

"  O,  Mere  Ksther  !  Ml're  Esther  ! "  exclaimed  the 
lady  Superior.  ''  I  feel  too  great  a  satisfaction  in  view  of 
the  rich  dower  of  these  two  girls.  I  need  much  self-exam- 
ination to  weed  out  worldlv  thoujrhts.  Alas!  Alas!  [ 
would  rather  be  the  humblest  aunt  in  our  kitchen,  than 
the  Lady  Superior  of  the  Ursulines.  Hlessed  old  Mere 
Marie  used  to  say  '  a  good  turn  in  the  kitchen  was  as  good 
as  a  j-)rayer  in  the  chapel.'" 

Mere  Ksther  reflected  a  moment,  and  said,  "We  have 
long  found  it  easier  to  pray  for  souls  than  to  relieve  l)odies. 
I  thank  good  St.  Joseph  for  this  prospective  blessing  upon 
our  monastery." 

During  the  long  and  wasting  war.  Mere  Migeon  had 
seen  her  |)oor  nuns  reduced  to  grievous  straits,  which 
they  bore  cheerfully,  however,  as  tluir  share  of  the  com- 
mon suffering  of  their  country.  The  cassi't/t'  of  St.  Joseph, 
wherein  were  deposited  the  oboli  for  the  j)oor,  had  long 
been  emptied.  The  image  of  St.  Joseph  mi  hli'.  chat  stood 
at  the  great  stair,  and  kept  watch  over  the  store  room  of 
coin  and  bread,  had  often  guarded  an  empty  chamber. 
St  Joseph  ail  hihc'iir,  overlooking  the  great  kitchen  of  the 
convent,  had  often  been  d'af  to  the  prayers  of  "  my 
aunts,"  who  prepared  the  food  of  the  community.  The 
meagre  tables  of  the  refectory  had  not  seldom  been  the 
despair  of  the  old  depositaire,  Mere  St.  Louis,  who  de- 
voutly said  her  longest  graces  over  her  scantiest  meals. 

"  I  thank  St.  Josepli  for  what  he  gives,  and  for  what 
he  withholds,  yea,  for  what  he  takes  away !"  observed 
Mbre  St.  Louis  to  her  special  friend  and  gossip,  M^re  St. 
Antoine,  as  they  retired  from  the  chapel.  "Our  years  of 
famine  are  nearly  over.     The  day  of  the  consecration  of 


662 


THE  CIIIEN  D'OR. 


Amdiie  de  Repentigny  will  be  to  ns  the  marriage  at  Cana. 
Our  water  will  be  turned  into  wine.  I  shall  no  longer 
need  to  save  the  crumbs,  except  for  the  poor  at  our  gate." 

The  advent  of  Amelie  de  Repenligny  was  a  circum- 
stance of  absorbing  interest  to  the  nuns,  who  regarded  it 
as  a  reward  for  their  long  devotions  and  prayers  for  the 
restoration  of  their  house  to  its  oid  prosperity.  We  usually 
count  l'ro\  idence  upon  our  side,  when  we  have  consciously 
done  ought  to  merit  the  good  forfne  that  befalls  us." 

And  now  davs  came  and  went,  went  and  came  as  Time 
the  inexorable  ever  does,  regardless  of  human  joys  or  sor- 
rows. Amelie,  weary  of  the  world,  was  only  desirous  of 
passing  aw-ry  from  it,  to  that  sphere  where  lime  is  not,  and 
where  our  affections  and  thoughts  alone  measure  the  periods 
of  eternity.  For  time  there  is  but  the  shadow  that  accom- 
panies the  jo\s  of  angels,  or  the  woes  of  sinners,  r.  the 
reality.      It  is  time  here,  eternity  there  ! 

The  two  postulantes  seemed  impressed  with  the  spirit 
that  to  their  faiicies,  lingered  in  the  cell  of  their  kins- 
woman, Mere  IMadelaine.  "Miey  bent  their  gentle  necks 
to  the  heaviest  yoke  of  si)iritua!  service,  which  their  Super- 
ior would  ccMisent  to  lay  ujion  ihem. 

Amelie's  inflexible  will  made  her  merciless  towards 
herself.  She  took  pleasure  in  the  hardest  of  self  imposed 
penances,  as  if  the  racking  of  her  soul  by  incessant  prayers, 
and  wasting  of  her  body  by  vigils  and  cruel  fastings,  were 
a  vicarious  punishment,  borne  for  the  sake  of  her  hapless 
brother. 

She  could  not  forget  Pierre,  nor  did  she  ever  tiy  to 
forget  liim.  It  was  observed  by  the  younger  nuns,  that 
when  bv  chance  or  desijin,  thev  mentioned  his  name,  she 
looked  up  and  her  lips  moved  in  silent  prayer  ;  but  she 
spoke  not  of  him,  save  to  her  aunt  and  to  Heloise.  These 
two  faithful  friends  alone  knew  the  inexpressible  anguish 
M'ith  which  she  had  heard  of  Pierre's  intended  departure 
for  France. 

The  shock  caused  by  the  homicide  of  the  Pourgeois, 
and  the  consequent  annihilation  of  all  the  hopes  of  her 
life  in  a  happy  union  witli  Pierre  Phililiert,  was  too  much 
for  even  her  naturally  sound  and  elastic  constiluti'jn.  Her 
health  gave  way  irrecoverably.  Her  face  grew  thin  and  wan 
without  losing  any  of  its  spiritual  beauty,  as  her  soul  look- 
ed through  its  ever  more  transparent  covering,  which  daily 


■■i-il 


I  'Wt... 


"  LOVEL  V  IN  DEA  TH,''  ETC, 


663 


'ere 
ess 


grew  more  and  mere  retherialized  as  she  faded  away.  A 
hectic  flush,  Hko  a  spot  of  lire,  came  and  went  for  a  time, 
and  at  hist  .settled  permanently  upon  her  cheek.  Her 
eyes,  those  jjjlorious  orbs,  filled  wilii  unquenchable  love, 
grew  supernaturally  laroe  and  brilliant  with  the  flames 
that  fed  upon  her  vital  forces.  Amelie  sickened  and  sank 
rapidly,  The  vulture  of  quick  consumption  had  fastened 
upon  her  youn>^  life. 

Mere  Esther  and  Mere  Miireon  shook  their  heads,  for 
they  were  used  to  broken  hi-arls,  and  knew  the  infallible 
signs  which  denote  an  early  death  in  the  young  and  beau- 
tiful. Prayers  and  masses  were  otTercd  for  the  recovery 
of  Amelie,  l>ut  all  in  vain.  God  wanted  her.  He  alone 
knew  how  to  heal  thit  broken  heart.  It  was  hceii  that  she 
had  not  long  to  live.      It  was  known  she  wished  to  die. 

l*ierre  heard  the  tidings  with  overwhelming  grief.  He 
had  been  permitted  but  once  to  see  her  for  a  fevv  brief  mo- 
ments, which  dwelt  upon  his  mind  for  ever.  He  deferred 
his  departure  to  Europe  in  consequence  of  her  illness,  and 
knocked  daily  at  the  door  of  the  convent  to  ask  after  her 
and  leave  some  kind  message  or  tiower,  .vliich  was  faithfully 
carried  to  her  by  the  frieiully  nuns  who  received  him  at  the 
wicket.  A  feeling  of  pity  and  sympathy  for  these  two 
affianced  and  unfortunate  lovers  stole  into  the  hearts  of  the 
coldest  nuns,  while  tiie  novices  and  the  romantic  convent 
girls  were  absolutely  wild  over  the  'melancholy  fate  of 
Pierre  and  Amelie. 

He  long  solicited  in  vain  for  another  interview  with 
Amelie,  but  until  it  was  seen  that  she  was  approaching  the 
end,  il  was  not  granted  him.  Mere  Esther  interceded 
strongl)  with  tlie  Lady  Superior,  who  was  jealous  of  the 
influence  of  Pierre  with  her  young  novice.  At  length 
Amelie's  prayers  overcame  her  scrujDles.  He  was  told  one 
day  that  Amelie  was  dying,  and  wished  to  see  him  for  the 
last  time  in  this  world. 

Amelie  was  carried  in  a  chair  to  the  bars  to  receive  her 
sorrowing  lo\er.  Her  jiale  face  retained  its  statuesque 
beauty  of  outline,  but  so  thin  and  wasted  ! 

"  Pi'irre  will  not  know  me,"  whispered  she  to  Heloise, 
"but  1  shall  smile  at  the  joy  of  meeting  him,  and  then  he 
will  recognize  me." 

Her  flowing  veil  was  thrown  back  from  her  face.  She 
spoke  little,  but  her  dark  eyes  were  fixed  with   devouring 


m 


■  1. 


.!  Ill 


!  . 


664 


T//E  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


ffi 

S"' 

i'        ^ 

1 

i  ^bj 

i 

QhE  .^S*' 

9B'^              i' 

1 

w.      m 

■ 

I     " 

i 

eagerness  upon  the  door  by  whicli  she  knew  Pierre  would 
come  in.  Her  aunt  supported  her  head  upon  her  shoulder, 
while  Heloise  knelt  at  her  knee  and  fanned  her  with  sis- 
terly tenderness,  whispering  words  of  sisterly  sympathy  in 
her  ear. 

Pierre  flew  to  the  convent  at  the  hour  appointed.  He 
was  at  once  admitted,  with  a  caution  from  Mere  Esther  to 
be  calm  and  not  agitate  the  dying  girl.  The  moment  he 
entered  the  great  parlor,  Amt^lie  sprang  from  her  seat  with 
a  sudden  cry  of  recognition,  extending  her  poor  thin  hands 
through  the  bars  towards  him.  Pierre  seized  them,  kissing 
them  passionately,  but  broke  down  utterly  at  the  sight  of 
her  wasted  face  and  the  seal  of  death  set  thereon. 

"  Amelie  I  my  darling  Amelie  !  "  exclaimed  he,  "  I  have 
prayed  so  long  to  see  you,  and  they  would  not  let  me  in." 

"It  was  partly  my  fault,  Pierre,"  said  she  fondly.  "I 
feared  to  let  you  see  me.  I  feared  to  learn  that  you  hate, 
as  you  have  cause  to  do,  the  whole  house  of  Repentigny ! 
And  yet  you  do  not  curse  me,  dear  Pierre?  " 

"  My  poor  angel,  you  break  my  heart  !  I  curse  the  house 
of  Repentigny  ?  I  hale  you  ?  Ame'lie,  you  know  me  bet- 
ter." 

*'  But  your  good  father,  the  noble  and  just  Bourgeois  ! 
O  !  Pierre,  what  have  we  not  done  to  you  and  yours  !  " 

She  fell  back  upon  her  pillow,  covering  her  eyes  with 
her  semi-transparent  hands,  bursting,  as  she  did  so,  into  a 
flood  of  passionate  tears  and  passing  into  a  dead  faint. 

Pierre  was  wild  with  anguish,  lie  pressed  against  the 
bars.  "  For  Clod's  sake,  let  me  in  !  "  exclainied  he,  "  she 
is  dving !  " 

The  two  quiet  nuns  who  were  in  attendance  s'  00k  their 
heads  at  Pierre's  appeal  to  open  the  door.  They  were  too 
well  disciplined  in  the  iron  rule  of  the  house  to  open  it 
without  an  express  order  from  the  Lady  Superior,  or  from 
Mere  Esther.  Their  bosoms,  abounding  in  spiritual  warmth, 
responded  coldly  to  the  contagion  of  mere  human  passion. 
Their  ears,  unused  to  the  voice  of  man's  love,  tingled  at  the 
words  of  Pierre.  Fortunately,  Mere  Esther,  ever  on  the 
watch,  came  into  the  parlor,  and,  seeing  at  a  glance  the 
need  of  the  hour,  opened  the  iron  door  and  bade  Pierre 
come  in.  He  rushed  forward  and  threw  himself  at  the  feet 
of  Amelie,  calling  her  by  the  most  tender  appellatives,  and 
seeking  to  recall  her  to  a  consciousness  of  his  presence. 


"  LOVEL  V  IN  DEA TH,"  ETC, 


665 


their 

te  too 

)en  it 

I  from 

"intii, 

Ision. 

It  the 

the 

the 

lerre 

feet 

a  'id 


That  loved  familiar  voice  overtook  her  spirit,  already 
winging  its  flight  from  earth,  and  brought  it  back  for  a  few 
minutes  longer.  Mbre  Esther,  a  skilful  nurse,  administered 
a  few  dro{3s  of  cordial,  and,  seeing  her  dying  condition, 
sent  instantly  for  the  physician  and  the  chaplain, 

Anielie  opened  her  eyes  and  turned  them  inquiringly 
round  the  group  until  they  fastened  upon  Pierre.  A  flash 
of  fondness  suddenly  sutTused  her  face,  as  she  remembered 
he  \v  and  why  he  was  there.  She  threw  her  arms  round  his 
nock  and  kissed  him  many  times,  murnnning,  "  I  have 
often  prayed  to  die  thus.  Pierre  !  close  to  you,  my  love,  close 
to  vou  ;  in  vour  arms  and  God's,  where  vou  could  receive 
my  last  breath,  and  feel  in  the  last  throb  of  my  heart  that 
it  is  wholly  yours  !  " 

"  My  poor  Amelie,"  cried  he,  pressing  her  to  his  bosom, 
"vou  shall  not  die  !  Courage,  darling  !  It  is  but  weakness 
and  the  air  of  the  convent  ;  you  shall  not  die." 

"  I  am  dying  now,  Pierre,"  said  she,  falling  back  upon 
her  pillow.  "  I  feel  I  have  but  a  short  time  to  live  !  I 
welcome  death,  since  I  cannot  be  yours.  Put,  O  !  the  un- 
utterable pang  of  leaving  you,  my  dear  love  !  " 

l*ierre  could  only  reply  by  so1)s  and  kisses.  Amelie 
was  silent  f(jr  a  few  moments,  as  if  revolving  some  deep 
thought  in  her  mind. 

"There  is  one  thing.  Pierre,  I  have  to  beg  of  you,"  said 
she,  faltering  as  if  doubting  his  consent  to  her  prayer.  "  Can 
you,  will  you,  accept  my  lite  for  Le  Ciardeur's  .'  If  I  die 
for  ///>//,  will  you  forgive  my  poor  blood-stained  and  deluded 
bi  other,  and  your  own  ?  Ves,  Pierre,"  repeated  she,  as  she 
raised  his  hand  to  her  lijis  and  kisst  d  it,  "your  brother,  as 
well  as  mine  !     Will  you  forgi\e  him,  Pierre  ?  " 

"Amelie!  Amelie!"  replied  he,  with  a  voice  broken 
with  emotion,  "can  vou  fancv  oiIkt  than  that  I  would  for- 
give  him?  I  forgave  Le  (lardeur  from  the  hrst.  In  my 
heart  I  never  accused  hiin  of  my  father's  death.  Alas  !  he 
knew  not  what  he  did  !  He  was  but  a  sword  in  the  hands 
of  my  father's  enemies.  I  forgave  him  then,  darling,  and  I 
forgive  him  wholly  now,  for  your  sake  and  his  own  ! '' 

'•  My  noble  Pierre!"  replied  she,  putting  out  her  rrms 
towards  him.  "  W'hv  miirht  not  God  have  suffered  me  to 
reward  such  divine  goodness  ?  Thanks,  my  love  !  I  now 
die  content  with  all  things  but  parting  with  you."  She 
held  him  fast  by  his  hands,  one  of  which  she  kept  pressed 


666 


THE  CHI  EN  D'OR. 


to  her  lips.  T'ley  all  looked  at  her  expectincrly,  waiting 
for  her  to  speak  again,  for  her  eyes  were  wide  open  and 
fixed  with  a  look  of  ineffable  l«,ve  upon  the  face  of  Pierre, 
looking  like  life  after  life  was  fled.  She  still  held  him  in 
her  rigid  clasp,  but  she  moved  not.  Upon  her  pale  lips  a 
smile  seemed  to  hover.  It  was  but  the  shadow  left  behind 
of  her  retreating  soul.  Ame'lie  de  Kepentigny  was  dead  ! 
The  angel  of  death  had  kissed  her  lovingly,  and  unnoticed 
of  any  she  had  passed  with  him  away  ! 

The  watciiful  eye  of  the  Lady  de  Tilly  was  the  first  to 
see  that  Amelie's  breath  had  gone  so  quietly  that  no  one 
caught  her  latest  sigh.  The  physician  and  cliaplain  rushed 
hurriedly  into  the  chamber,  but  too  late  !  The  great  phy- 
sician of  souls  had  already  put  his  beloved  to  sleep — the 
blessed  sleep,  whose  dream  is  of  love  on  earth,  and  whose 
waking  is  in  heaven  !  The  great  high  priest  of  the  sons 
and  daughters  of  men  had  anointed  her  with  the  oil  of  his 
mercy,  and  sent  his  blessed  angels  to  lead  her  to  the  man- 
sions of  everlasting  rest. 

The  stroke  fell  like  the  stunning  blow  of  a  hammer 
upon  the  heart  of  Pierre.  He  had,  indeed,  foreseen  her 
death,  but  tried  in  vain  to  realize  it.  He  made  no  outcry, 
but  sat  still  wrapped  in  a  terrible  silence,  as  in  the  midst 
of  a  desert.  He  held  fast  her  dead  hands,  and  gazed  upon 
her  dead  face  until  the  heart-breaking  sobs  of  Heloise,  and 
the  appeals  of  Mere  Esther,  roused  him  from  his  stupor. 

He  rose  up,  and,  lifting  Ame'lie  in  his  arms,  laid  her 
upon  a  couch  tenderly  and  reverently,  as  a  man  touches 
the  holiest  object  of  his  religion.  Amtflie  was  to  him  a 
sacrament,  and  in  his  manly  love  he  worshipped  her  more 
as  a  saint  than  as  a  woman,  a  creation  of  heavenly  more 
than  of  earthly  perfections. 

Pierre  bent  o\er  her  and  closed  for  the  last  time  those 
dear  eyes  which  had  looked  upon  him  so  pure  and  so  lov- 
ingly. He  embraced  her  dead  form,  and  kissed  those  pal- 
lid lips,  which  had  once  confessed  her  unalterable  love  and 
truth  for  Pierre  Pliilibert. 

The  agitated  nuns  gathered  round  them  at  the  news  of 
death  in  the  convent.  They  looked  wonderingly  and  earn- 
estly at  an  exhibition  of  such  absorbing  affection,  and 
were  for  the  most  part  in  tears.  With  some  of  these  gen- 
tle women,  this  picture  of  true  love,  broken  in  the  midst  of 
its   brightest  hopes,    woke  sympathies  and    recollections, 


"  THE  MILLS  OF  GOD  GRIND  SLOWLY. '  65; 

which  the  watchful  eye  of  Mere  Migeon  promptly  checked 
as  stion  as  she  cam  ;  into  tlie  jiarlor. 

The  Lady  Superior  saw  that  all  was  over,  and  that 
Pierre's  presence  was  an  uneasiness  to  the  nuns,  who 
glanced  at  him  with  eyes  of  pity  and  womanly  sympathy. 
She  took  him  kindly  by  the  hand,  with  a  few  words  of  con- 
dolence, and  intimated  that  as  he  had  been  permitted  to 
see  the  end,  he  must  now  withdraw  from  those  forbidden 
precincts,  and  leave  his  lost  treasure  to  the  care  of  the 
nuns  who  take  charge  of  the  dead. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 


(( 


THE    MILLS    OF   GOD   GRIND   SLOWLY 


» 


PIERRE  was  permitted  to  see  the  remains  of  his  affianced 
bride  interred  in  the  convent  chapel.  Her  modest 
funeral  was  impressive  from  the  number  of  sad  sympathizing 
faces  which  gathered  round  her  grave. 

The  quift  figure  of  a  nun  was  seen  morn  and  eve,  for 
years  and  years  after,  kneeling  upon  the  stone  slab  that 
covered  her  grave,  laying  upon  it  her  daily  offering  of 
flowers,  and  if  the  name  of  Le  Gardeur  mingled  with  her 
prayers,  it  was  but  a  proof  of  the  unalterable  affection  of 
Heloise  de  Lotbiniere,  known  in  religion  as  Mere  St. 
Croix. 

The  'lamp  of  Repentigny  shed  its  beams  henceforth 
over  the  grave  of  the  last  representative  of  that  noble 
house,  where  it  still  shines  to  commemorate  their  virtues, 
and  perpetuate  the  memory  of  their  misfortune;> ;  but  God 
has  long  since  compensated  them  for  all. 

Lady  de  Tilly  was  inconsolable  over  the  ruin  of  her 
fondest  hopes.  She  had  regarded  Pierre  as  her  son,  and 
intended  to  make  him  and  Amt'lie  joint  inheritors  with  Le 
Gardeur  of  her  inmiense  wealth.  She  desired  still  to  be- 
queath it  to  Pierre,  not  only  because  of  her  great  kindness 
for  him,  but  as  a  sort  of  self-imposed  amercement  upon 
her  house  for  the  death  of  his  father. 

Pieire  refused:  "I  have  more  of  the  world's  riches 


668 


THE  CHI  END' OR. 


^^ 


already  than  T  can  use,"  said  he,  **  and  I  value  not  what  I 
have,  since  she  is  fjone  for  whose  sake  alone  I  prized 
them.  I  shall  {^o  abroad  lo  resume  my  profession  of  arms, 
not  seekinj;,  yet  not  avoiding  an  honorable  death,  which 
may  reunite  me  to  Amelie,  and  ihe  sooner,  the  more  wel- 
come 1  " 

"O  God  that  rul  s  the  world!"  was  an  exclamation 
often  repeated  by  the  noble  lady  in  those  sad  days,  "what 
a  wreck  of  happiness  is  ours  I  1  cannot  resign  myself  to  it  I 
and  I  ask,  vainly,  vainly,  what  we  have  done  to  bring  upon 
our  heads  such  a  heavy  judgment  as  this  ?  " 

"The  wa\s  of  Providence  are  justilied  by  faith,  not  by 
fallible  reason,  which  is  too  short-sighted  to  see  the  end' 
of  things,"  was  the  reply  of  the  Reverend  Father  de  Berey 
who  often  visited  her  in  her  affliction.  '  We  see  but  in 
part,  we  know  but  in  part.  'I'he  rigiiteous  perisheth,  and 
1  see  the  wicked  in  great  power,  spreading  like  a  green 
bay  tree.'  But  mark  the  end  :  '  The  end  of  the  upright 
man  is  peace,  the  end  of  the  wicked  shall  be  cut  otif,' 
saith  God.  Let  us  never  forget  amid  our  repining  at 
Providence,  that  God  reigneth  over  all.  The  end  that  we 
see,  is  not  the  end  that  God  sees.  Man's  ends  are  but 
beginnings  in  the  eternal  scheme  of  human  destiny.  God's 
ends  are  not  on  earth,  but  in  that  s|")iritual  world,  where 
eternity  takes  the  place  of  time,  where  our  sharji — may  be 
our  unmerited — trials  here,  are  amply  recompensed  in  the 
full  plan  of  divine  beneficence  hereafter.  '  Darkness 
lasteth   through  the   night,  but  joy  cometh   in  the   morn- 

iM(r  ! 

The  habitual  gavcty  of  the  Superior  of  the  Recollets 
dropped  like  a  mask  from  his  face  in  the  presence  of  a 
real  sorrow,  and  he  stood  revealed  in  his  true  character  of 
a  grave  earnest  christian,  teaching  in  all  seriousness,  the 
duty  of  resignation  amid  the  trials  of  this  world,  and  a 
lively  faith  in  the  certainty  of  God's  ways  being  justified  in 
the  world  to  come. 

Lady  de  Tilly  sought  by  assiduous  devotion  to  the 
duties  of  her  life  and  station,  distraction  from  the  gnaw- 
ing cares  that  ever  jireyed  upon  her.  She  but  partially  suc- 
ceeded. She  lived  through  the  short  peace  of  Aix  la 
Chapelle,  and  shared  in  the  terrible  sufferings  of  the 
seven  years  war  that  followed  in  its  wake.  When  the 
final  conquest  of  New  P'rance  overwhelmed  the  Colony  to 


"  THE  MILLS  OF  GOD  GIUXD  SLOWLY^ 


3t  what  I 
I  prized 

I  of  arms, 
til,  which 

II  ore  wel- 

;Ianiation 
s,  "what 
elf  to  it  ! 
ingupon 

1,  not  by 
the  end- 
ie  Berey 
:  but   in 
lith,  and 

a  green 

upright 
cut  off,' 
ning  at 
that  we 
^ire  but 
.  God's 
,  where 
may  be 

in   the 
irkness 

niorn- 

'collets 
ce  of  a 
cter  of 
ss,  the 
and  a 
tied  in 

:o  the 
gnaw- 
y  suc- 
^ix  la 
f  the 
n  the 
•ny  to 


669 


all  nppearances  in  utter  ruin,  she  endowed  the  Ursulines 
with  a  large  portion  of  her  remaining  wealth,  and  retired 
with  her  nearest  kiiisnum  to  France.  The  name  of  I'illy 
became  extinct  among  the  noblesse  of  the  colony,  but  it 
still  flourishes  in  a  vigorous  branch  upon  its  native  soil  of 
Normandv. 

Pierre  I'hilibcrt  passed  a  sad  winter  in  arranging  and 
settling  the  vast  affairs  of  his  father  before  leaving  New 
France.  In  the  Spring  following  the  death  of  Amelie,  he 
passed  over  to  the  old  world,  bidding  a  long  and  last 
adieu  to  his  native  land. 

Pierre  endeavored  manfully  to  bear  up  under  the  load 
of  recollections  and  sorrows  which  crushed  his  heart,  and 
made  him  a  grave  and  melancholy  man  before  his  time. 
He  rejoined  the  army  of  his  Sovereign,  and  sought  danger 
— his  comrades  said  for  danger's  sake — with  a  desperate 
valor  that  was  the  boast  of  the  army  ;  but  few  suspected 
that  he  sought  death,  and  temjited  fate  in  every  form. 

His  wish  was  at  last  accomplished — as  all  earnest,  ab- 
sorbing wishes  ever  are — he  fell  valorouslv,  dying  a 
soldier's  death  upon  the  field  of  Minden,  his  last  mo- 
ments sweetened  by  the  thought  that  his  beloved  Ameli'* 
was  waiting  for  him  on  the  other  side  of  the  dark  river,  to 
welcome  him  with  the  bridal  kiss,  promised  upon  the 
banks  of  the  lake  of  Tilly.  He  met  her  joyfully  in  that 
land  where  love  is  real,  and  where  its  promises  are  never 
broken ! 

The  death  of  the  Bourgeois  Philibert,  affecting  so 
many  fortunes,  was  of  innnense  consequence  to  the 
colony.  It  led  to  the  ruin  of  the  party  of  the  Ilonnctcs 
Gens,  to  the  supremacy  of  the  Grand  Company,  and  the  final 
overthrow  of  New  France. 

The  power  and  extravagance  of  Bigot  after  that  event, 
grew  without  check  or  challenge,  and  the  departure  of  the 
virtuous  L.i  (lallissoriiere  left  tlie  colony  to  the  weak  and 
corrupt  administrations  of  La  Jonquiere,  and  De  Vaudreuil. 
The  latter  made  the  castle  of  St.  Louis  as  noted  for  its 
venality,  as  was  the  palace  of  the  Intendant.  Bigot  kept 
his  high  place  through  every  change.  The  Marquis  de 
Vaudieuil  gave  him  free  course  ;  and  it  was  more  than 
suspected  shared  with  the  corrupt  Intendant  in  the  plunder 
of  the  colony. 

These  public  vices  bore  their  natural  fruit,  and  all  the 


670 


THE  CHIEN  D'OR. 


\\     &    ,  ^ 


\     \ 


efforts  of  the  TLvuutcs  Gais  to  stay  the  tide  of  corruption 
were  futile.  Montcahn,  after  reapiuj^  successive  harvests 
of  victories,  brilliant  bcyontl  all  precedent  in  North 
America,  died  a  sacrifice  to  the  insatiable  greed  and 
extravagance  of  Bigot  and  his  associates,  who,  while  en- 
riching themselves,  starved  the  army,  anfl  plundered  the 
colony  of  all  its  resources.  The  fall  of  (Quebec,  and  the 
capitulation  of  Montreal  were  less  owing  to  the  power  of 
the  English  than  to  the  corrupt  misgovernment  of  Bigot 
and  Vaudreuil,  and  the  neglect  by  the  court  of  France  of 
her  ancient  and  devoted  colony. 

Le  (iardcur,  after  a  long  confinement  in  the  Bastille, 
where  he  incessantly  demanded  trial  and  punishment  for  his 
rank  offence  of  the  murder  of  the  J'ourgeois,  as  he  ever 
called  it,  was  at  last  liberated  by  express  command  of 
the  king,  without  trial,  and  against  his  own  wishes.  His 
sword  was  restored  to  him,  accompanied  by  a  royal  order, 
bidding  him  upon  his  allegiance  return  to  his  regiment,  as 
an  officer  of  the  king,  free  from  all  blame  for  the  offence 
laid  to  his  charge.  Whether  the  killing  of  the  Bourgeois 
was  privately  regarded  at  court  as  good  service,  was  never 
known.  But  Le  Gardeur,  true  to  his  loyal  instincts,  obeyed 
the  king,  rejoined  the  army,  and  once  more  took  the  field. 

Upon  the  outbreak  of  the  last  French  war  in  America, 
he  returned  to  New  P'rance  a  changed  and  reformcfl  man  ; 
an  ascetic  in  his  living,  and  although  a  soldier,  aniunk  in 
the  vigor  of  his  penitential  observances.  His  professional 
skill  and  daring  were  conspicuous  among  the  number  of 
gallant  officers  upon  whom  Montcalm  chiefly  relied  to 
assist  him  in  his  long  and  desperate  struggle  against  the 
ever  increasing  forces  of  the  English.  From  the  capture 
of  Chouaguen,  and  the  defence  of  the  Fords  of  Mont- 
morency— to  the  last  brave  blow  struck  upon  the  plain.->  of 
St.  Foye,  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny  fulfilled  every  duty 
of  a  gallant  and  desperate  soldier.  He  carried  his  life  in 
his  hand,  and  valued  it  as  cheaply  as  he  did  the  lives  of 
his  enemies. 

He  never  spoke  to  Angel ique  again  !  Once  he  met  her 
full  in  the  face,  upon  the  perron  of  the  Cathedral  of  St. 
Marie.  She  started  as  if  touched  by  fire, — trembled, 
bluslied,  hesitated,  and  extended  her  hand  to  him  in  the 
old  familiar  way — with  that  look  of  witchery  in  her  eyes,, 
and  that  seductive  smile  upon  her  lips,  which  once  sent  the 


"  THE  MILLS  OF  GOD  GRIND  SLOWLY:' 


671 


f 


hot  blood  coursincT  marllv  in  his  veins.  But  Le  Gardcur's 
heart  was  pctrilu-d  now!  lie  cared  for  no  woman  more — 
or  if  he  did,  his  ihcmjjjht  dwelt  with  silent  regret  upon  that 
pale  nun  in  the  (,'onvent  of  the  Ursulines — once  Heloise 
de  Lotbiniere,  who  he  knew  was  wasting  her  young  life  in 
solitary  prayers  for  pardon  for  his  great  otTence." 

His  anger  rose  fiercely  at  tiie  sight  of  Angelique,  and 
Le  Gardeur  forgot  for  a  n^onient  that  lie  was  a  gei^tlenwin, 
a  nian  who  had  once  loved  this  woman.  He  struck  her  a 
blc)W,  and  passed  on  !  It  shattered  her  last  illusion.  'I'iie 
proud  guilty  woman  still  loved  Le  Gardeur,  if  she  loved  any 
man.  But  she  felt  she  had  merited  his  scorn.  She 
staggered,  and  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  the  cathedral — 
weeping  the  bitterest  tears  her  eyes  had  ever  wept  in  her 
life.     Sl^e  never  saw  Le  (^ardeur  again. 

After  the  concjuest  of  New  France,  Le  Gardeur  retired 
with  the  shattered  renniant  of  the  army  of  France  back  to 
their  native  land.  His  Soxereign  loaded  him  with  honors, 
which  he  cared  not  for.  He  had  ntMie  to  share  them  with 
now  !  Lover,  sister,  frientls,  all  were  lost  and  gone  !  But 
he  went  on  performing  his  military  duties  with  an  iron 
rigor  and  punctuality,  that  made  men  admire,  while  tliey 
feared  hitn.  His  life  was  more  mechanical  than  human, 
Le  Gardeur  spared  neither  himself  nor  others.  He  never 
married,  and  never  again  looked  with  kindly  eye  upon  a 
woman.  His  heart  was  proof  against  every  female  bland- 
ishment. He  ended  his  life  in  solitary  state  and  greatness, 
as  Governor  of  Mahe  in  India,  many  years  after  he  had 
left  his  native  Canada. 

One  day,  in  the  year  of  grace,  1777,  another  council  of 
war  was  sitting  in  the  great  chamber  of  the  Castle  of  St. 
Loins,  under  a  wonderful  change  of  circumstances  !  An 
English  govern(^r.  Sir  Guy  Carleton,  presided  over  a  mixed 
assemblage  of  English  and  Canadian  officers.  The  Royal 
Arms  and  colors  of  England  had  replaced  the  emblems 
and  ensigns  of  France  upon  the  walls  of  the  council 
chamber,  and  the  red  uniform  of  her  army  was  loyally 
worn  by  the  old  but  still  indomitable  La  Corne  St.  Luc, 
who  with  the  De  Salaberrys,  the  De  Beaujeus,  Duchesnaysi, 
de  Gaspes,  and  others  of  noblest  name  and  lineage  in  New 
France,  had  come  forwartl  as  loyal  subjects  of  Englantl's 
crown  to  defend  Canada  against  the  armies  of  the 
English  colonies,  now  in  rebellion  against  the  king. 


i 


f  m 


\ 


672 


r//E  cm  EN  D'OR. 


\%  I 


The  noblesse  and  people  of  New  France,  all  that  was 
best  and  of  most  esteem  in  the  land,  <(ave  their  alle;^i.\nce 
loyally  and  unreservedly  to  Kn^l.ind,  upon  their  final 
abandonment  by  tlie  court  of  l''rance.  They  knew  th(>y 
had  been  (^oldiy,  deliberately,  cruelly  deserted  by  their  kinj;, 
and  the  colony  utterly  ruined  by  the  inalvers.iujasoi  his 
Intendant. 

Montcalm  had  ap|)ealed  vainly  ajjain  and  af^ain  for 
help.  He  fou<j;lit  his  last  campai_>;n  witii  tlie  letter  of  the 
Marshal  l)e  Helle  Isle  in  his  pocket,  refusin;^  the  reinforce- 
ments he  had  so  earnestly  requested,  and  cohily  biddinjif 
him  m  ike  :  "  the  best  figiit  he  could  to  save  the  king's  honor 
and  his  own." 

The  Canadians  neither  forgot  nor  forgave  the  bonfires 
of  Voltaire,  nor  the  Batterers  who  congratulated  La 
Pompadour,  on  the  loss  of  those  ''  acres  of  snow  in 
Cxnada."  But  the  honor  and  mucdi  of  the  strength  of 
France  were  lost  with  them.  "  When  the  house  is  on  tire, 
nobody  minds  about  the  stables  !"  was  the  heartless  sarcasm 
of  Berreyer,  Minister  of  Maiine  and  Colonies,  to  De 
Bougaiinille,  deputed  to  make  a  last  desperate  appe.d  for 
help  to  the  mother  country,  which  caused  the  indignant 
delegate  to  reply  to  Berreyer,  that  "  his  answer  was  worthy 
of  a  liorse." 

Still,  the  rending  of  the  old  ties  of  nationality  had 
been  terrible,  and  the  fond  hahitans  long  looked  and 
prayed  for  the  return  of  tiieir  Bonnes  Gens,  from  France, 
who  never  came!  Canada  had  been  left  to  its  fate.  The 
people  of  the  colony  settled  down  by  degrees  as  loyal  and 
faithful  subjects  of  England. 

When  the  conquest  of  New  France  by  England,  had  its 
connterstroke  in  the  revolt  of  the  English  colonies, 
the  Canadians  were  immovable  from  their  new  allegiance. 
They  turned  a  de;  ear  to  the  appeals  of  Congress  and  to 
the  proclamations  of  Washington,  inciting  them  to  revolt, 
and  especially  scorned  the  seductive  offers  of  La  Fayette 
and  D'Est  ling  to  join  in  the  league  with  the  Americans. 

The  Canadians  saw  with  resentment,  French  fleets  and 
armies  despatched  to  America,  to  aid  the  Bostonais,  a 
fraction  of  which  force  sent  in  the  hour  of  need,  would 
have  saved  New  France  from  conquest !  The  assistance 
which  had  been  so  brutallv  denied  to  her  own  children, 
France  now  gave  lavishly  to  their  hereditary  enemies  who 
had  for  over  a  century  been  trying  to  conquer  Canada. 


■MM 


"  THE  MILLS  OF  GOD  GRLVD  SLOIVLY: 


673 


til  at  was 
lo'^i.iiice 
10 ir  final 
lew  they 
icir  kin<T[, 
'.1.1  oi  his 

[;ain  for 
r  of  the 
-'iiiforce- 
l)ifMin^ 
;'.s  iionor 

l)()nfires 
tL'd     La 
now    in 
'n<;lh  of 
on  rire, 
sarcasm 
to     I)e 
i)e.;l  for 
(lii^nant 
worthy 

ty  had 
(1  and 
'Vance, 
The 
al  and 

I  ad  its 
onies, 
iance. 
nd  to 
"cvolt, 
lyette 
ms. 
s  and 
lis,  a 
•oil  Id 

a  nee 
dren, 

who 


Throufrh  causes  rooted  deeply  in  the  history  of  New 
France,  the  Canadians  had  ever  regarded  the  English 
colonists  in  America  as  their  enemies,  far  more  than  the 
English  themselves,  and,  therefore,  when  driven  to  a  choice 
between  the  two,  they  remained  true  to  England,  and  their 
wise  choice  has  been  justified  to  this  day. 

The  patriotic  IJishop  Briand  exhorted  the  people  in 
season  and  out  of  season,  to  stand  by  their  king  and 
country !  the  clergy  everywhere  preached  damnation 
against  all  who  took  not  up  arms  to  opjjose  the  invasion 
of  Arnold  and  Montgomery!  some  of  them  like  the  war- 
like Curd  Bailly,  actually  took  the  field,  and  fell  in  defence 
of  the  colony  !  The  officers  and  leaders  of  the  Canadians, 
who  had  fought  in  the  old  wars  so  gallantly  for  France,  now 
donned  the  English  uniform,  and  led  their  countrymen  in 
the  defence  of  Quebec,  with  the  same  valor  and  with  better 
success  than  when  opi)osing  Wolfe  and  Murray,  The 
death  of  Jumonville  de  Villiers  was  gloriously  avenged! 

"  Read  that,  LaCorne  !  "  said  Sir  Guy  Carleton,  handing 
him  a  newspaper  just  received  from  England.  *'  An  old 
friend  of  yours  if  I  mistake  not,  is  dead  I  I  met  him  once 
in  India.  A  stern  saturnine  man  he  was  !  but  a  brave 
and  able  commander — I  am  sorry  to  hear  of  his  death,  but 
I  do  not  wonder  at  it.  He  was  the  most  melancholv  man 
I  ever  saw." 

La  Corne  took  the  paper  and  gave  a  start  of  intense 
emotion,  as  he  read  an  obituary  notice  as  follows  : — 

"  East  Indies.  Death  of  the  Marquis  De  Repentigny. 
The  Marquis  Le  Gardeur  de  Repentigny,  general  of  the 
army  and  governor  of  Mahe,  died  last  year  in  that  part  of 
India,  which  he  had  by  his  valor  and  skill  preserved  to 
France.  This  officer  had  served  in  Canada  with  the  repu- 
tation of  an  able  and  gallant  soldier." 

La  Corne  was  deeply  agitated,  his  lips  quivered  and 
tears  gathered  in  the  thick  gray  eye  lashes  that  formed  so 
prominent  a  feature  of  his  rugged  but  kindly  face.  He 
concluded  his  reading  in  silence — and  handed  the  paper 
to  De  Beaujeu,  with  the  single  remark — "  Le  Gardeur  is 
dead  !  poor  fellow  !  He  was  more  sinned  against  than  sin- 
ning !  God  pardon  him  for  all  the  evil  he  meant  not  to  do  ! 
Is  it  not  strange  that  she,  who  was  the  cursed  cause  of  his 
ruin,  still  flourishes  like  the  Queen  of  the  kingdom  of 
Brass  ?  It  is  hard  to  justify  the  ways  of  Providence,  when 

43 


674 


THE  CiriEN  D'OK. 


wickedness  like  hers  prospers,  and  virtues  like  those  of  the 
brave  old  Bourgeois  find  a  bloody  grave  !  My  poor 
Amc'lie  too!  poor  girl,  poor  girl  1"  La  Come  St.  Luc  sat 
silent  a  long  lime  inunersed  in  melancholy  reflections. 

The  Canadian  officers  read  llie  paragraph  which  re- 
vived in  their  minds  also  sad  recollections  of  the  past. 
They  knew  that  by  her,  who  had  been  the  cursed  cause  of 
the  ruin  of  Le  (]ardeur  and  of  the  death  of  the  liourgeois, 
La  Corne  referred  to  the  still  blooming  widow  of  the 
Chevalier  de  I'ean — the  leader  of  fashion  and  gaiety  in 
the  capital  now,  as  she  had  been  thirty  years  before,  when 
she  was  the  celebrated  Angelique  des  Meloises. 

Angelicjue  had  played  desperately  her  game  of  life  with 
the  juggling  fiend  of  ambition,  and  had  not  wholly  lost. 
Although  tile  murder  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin,  pressed 
hard  upon  her  conscience,  and  still  harder  upon  her  fears, 
no  man  read  in  her  face  the  minutest  asterisk  that  jjointed 
to  the  terrible  secret  buried  in  her  bosom,  and  never  dis- 
covered it.  So  long  as  La  Corriveau  bved,  Angelique  never 
felt  safe.  Ikit  fear  was  too  weak  a  counsellor  for  her  to 
pretermit  either  her  composure  or  her  pleasures.  She  re- 
doubled her  gayety,  and  her  devotions  ;  and  that  was  the 
extent  of  her  repentance !  The  dread  secret  of  IJeau- 
manoir  was  never  revealed.  It  awaited,  and  awaits  still, 
the  judgment  of  the  final  day  of  accompt. 

Bigot  in  his  heart  suspected  her  of  complicity  with  the 
bloody  deed,  but  proof  failed,  nor  could  he  ever  detect 
upon  her  countenance  or  in  her  words,  watch  as  he  wculd, 
one  sign  of  the  guilt,  she  kept  so  well  concealed  from  his 
eye.  He  was  never  quite  satisfied,  however,  with  her  inno- 
cence, and  although  so  deeply  smitten  by  her  beauty  and 
fascinations,  he  would  not  marry  her. 

Angelique  iiad  intrigued  and  sinned  in  vain.  She 
feared  Bigot  knew  more  than  he  really  did  in  reference  to 
the  death  of  Caroline,  and  oft  while  laughing  in  his  face, 
she  trembled  in  her  heart  when  he  played  and  equivocated 
with  her  earnest  appeals  to  marry  her.  Wearied  out  at 
length  with  waiting  for  his  decisive  yes  or  no,  Angelique, 
mortified  by  wounded  pride  and  stung  by  the  scorn  of  Le 
Gardeur  on  his  return  to  the  colony,  suddenly  accepted 
the  hand  of  the  Chevalier  de  Pean,  and  as  a  result  became 
the  recognized  mistress  of  the  Intendant — imitating  as  far 
as  she  was  able  the  splendor  and  the  guilt  of  La  Pompa- 


.  r 


(jMiiii 


••  THE  MILLS  OF  GOD  C^/XD  SLOIVLY." 


67s 


I  the 

ctect 
uld, 

II  his 
iino- 

and 

She 
:e  to 

ace, 
:ated 
It  at 
ique, 
Le 

Dted 
;ame 
s  far 

ipa- 


I 


dour,  and  makiii<;  the  palace  of  IJigot  as  corrupt,  if  not  as 
brilliant,  as  that  of  Versailles. 

An<;elique  lived  thenceforth  a  life  of  splendid  sin. 
She  clothed  herself  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  while  the 
noblest  ladies  of  the  land  were  reduced  by  tl>e  war  to  raj^s 
and  beggary.  She  fared  sumptuously  while  men  and 
women  died  of  hunger  in  the  streets  of  Quebec.  She 
bought  houses  and  lands  and  filled  her  coffers  with  gold 
out  of  the  public  treasury,  while  the  brave  soldiers  of 
Montcalm  starved  for  want  of  their  pay.  She  gave  fetes 
and  banquets  while  the  Knglish  were  thundering  at  the 
gates  of  the  Capital.  She  foresaw  the  eventual  fall  of 
liigot  and  the  ruin  of  the  country,  and  resolved  that  since 
she  had  failed  in  getting  himself,  she  would  make  herself 
possessor  of  all  that  he  had — and  she  got  it ! 

The  fate  of  IJigot  was  a  warning  to  public  peculators 
and  oppressors.  He  returned  to  I'Vance  soon  after  the 
surrender  of  the  colony,  with  Cadet,  V'arin,  Penisault  and 
others  of  the  Grand  Company,  who  were  now  useless  tools 
and  were  cast  aside  by  their  court  friends.  The  IJastile 
opened  its  iron  do.)rs  to  receive  the  godless  and  wicked 
crew,  who  had  lost  the  fairest  colonv  of  France — the  rich- 
est  jewel  in  her  crown.  IJigot  and  the  others  were  tried 
by  a  special  commission,  were  ."ound  guilty  of  the  most 
heinous  malversations  of  otifice,  and  sentenced  to  make  full 
restitution  of  the  plunder  of  tiie  King's  treasures — to  be 
imprisoned  until  their  tines  and  restitutions  were  paid,  and 
then  banished  from  the  kingdom  forever. 

History  has  so  far  utterly,  failed  to  tell  us  with  certainty 
what  was  the  end  of  Bigot.  Singular  as  it  may  seem,  a 
man  who  played  so  important  a  part  in  Canada,  found  no 
one  to  record  his  death  or  to  write  his  epitaph.  It  is  be- 
lieved that  by  favor  of  La  Pompadour  his  heavy  sentence 
was  commuted,  and  he  retained  a  sufficiency  of  his  ill-got- 
ten wealth  to  enal)le  him,  under  a  change  of  name,  to  live 
in  ease  and  opulence  at  Bordeaux,  where  he  died. 

Angelique  had  no  sympathy  for  Bigot  in  his  misfortunes, 
no  regrets  save  that  she  had  failed  to  mould  him  more 
completely  to  her  own  purposes,  flattering  herself  that 
had  she  done  so,  the  fortunes  of  the  war  and  the  fate  of 
the  colony  might  have  been  different.  What  might  have 
been,  had  she  not  ruined  herself  and  her  projects  by  the 
murder  of  Caroline,  it  were   vain  to  conjecture.     But  she 


n 


•I 


ill 


676 


T//£  CHIEN  nOR. 


who  had  boldly  dreamed  of  ruling  king  and  kingdom,  by 
the  witchery  of  her  charms  and  the  craft  of  her  subtle 
intellect,  had  to  content  herself  with  the  name  of  De  Pean 
and  the  shame  of  a  lawless  connection  with  the  Intendant. 

She  would  fain  have  gone  to  France  to  try  her  fortunes 
when  the  colony  was  lost,  but  La  Poiupadour  forbade  her 
preserxe  there  under  pain  of  her  severest  displeasure. 
Ang^lique  raved  at  the  inhibition,  but  was  too  wise 
to  tempt  the  wrath  of  the  royrd  mistress  by  disobeying 
her  mandate.  She  had  to  content  herself  with  rail- 
ing at  La  Pompadour  with  the  energy  of  three  Furies, 
but  she  never  ceased  to  the  end  of  her  life  to  boast  of  the 
terror  which  her  charms  had  exercised  over  the  great  fa- 
vorite of  the  King. 

Rolling  in  wealth  and  scarcely  faded  in  beauty,  Angdl- 
ique  kept  herself  in  the  public  eye.  She  hated  retirement 
and  boldly  claimed  her  right  to  a  foremost  place  in  the 
society  of  Quebec.  Her  great  wealth  and  unrivalled 
power  of  intrigue  enabled  her  to  keep  that  place  down  to 
the  last  decade  of  the  last  century.  A  generation  ago, 
very  old  men  and  women  still  talked  of  the  gorgeous  car- 
riages and  splendid  liveries  of  the  great  "Dame  De  Pean," 
whom  they  had  seen  in  their  childhood,  rolling  in  state 
along  the  broad  avenue  of  St.  Foye.  the  admiration, 
envy  and  evil  example  of  her  sex !  Many  people  shook 
their  heads  and  whispered  queer  storiei-  of  her  past  life,  in 
the  days  of  the  Intendant  Pigot,  but  none  knew  the  worst 
of  her.  The  forgotten  chamber  of  Beaumanoir  kept  its 
terrible  secret  till  long  after  she  hafl  disappeared  from  the 
scene  of  her  extravagant  life.  The  delight  of  Angelique 
was  in  the  eyes  of  men,  and  the  business  of  her  life  was  to 
retain  their  admiration  down  to  the  last  years  of  an  in- 
corrigible old  age. 

The  fate  of  La  Corriveau,  her  confederate  in  her  great 
wickedness,  was  peculiar  and  terrible.  Secured  at  once  by 
her  own  fears,  as  well  as  by  a  rich  yearly  allowance  paid 
her  by  Angelique,  La  Corriveau  discreetly  bridled  her 
tongue  over  the  death  of  Caroline,  but  she  could  not  bridle 
her  own  evil  passions  in  her  own  household. 

One  summer  day  of  the  year  following  the  conquest  of 
the  colony,  the  Goodman  Dodier  was  found  dead  in  his 
house  at  St.  Valier.  Fanchon,  who  knew  something  and 
suspected  more,  spoke  out ;  an  investigation  into  the  cause 


"  THE  MILLS  OF  GOD  GRIND  SLOWLY:' 


677 


in 

orst 
its 

the 
ue 
to 
in- 


by 
:iid 
ler 
]e 


of 
lis 
id 
se 


of  death  of  the  husband  resulted  in  the  discovery  that  he 
had  been  murdered  by  pouring  melted  lead  into  his  ear 
while  he  slept !  La  Corriveau  was  arrested  as. the  perpe- 
trator of  the  atrocious  deed. 

A  special  court  of  justice  was  convened  in  the  great 
hall  of  the  Convent  of  the  Ursulines,  which  in  the  ruinous 
state  of  the  city  after  the  siege  and  bombardment,  had 
been  taken  for  the  headquarters  of  General  Murray.  Mere 
Mignon  and  Mere  Esther,  who  both  survived  the  conquest, 
had  effected  a  prudent  arrangement  with  the  English  Gen- 
eral, and  saved  the  Convent  from  all  further  encroachment 
by  placing  it  under  his  special  protection. 

La  Corriveau  was  tried  with  all  the  fairness,  if  not  with 
all  the  forms,  of  P^nglish  law.  She  made  a  subtle  and 
embarrassing  defence,  but  was  at  last  fairly  convicted  of 
the  cruel  murder  of  her  husband.  She  was  sentenced  to 
be  hung  and  gibbetted,  in  an  iron  cage,  upon  the  hill  of 
Levis,  in  sight  of  the  whole  city  of  Quebec. 

La  Corriveau  made  frantic  efforts  during  her  imprison- 
ment to  engage  Ange'lique  to  intercede  in  her  behalf  ;  but 
Ange'lique's  appeals  were  fruitless  before  the  stern  admin- 
istrators of  English  law.  Moreover,  Ange'lique,  to  be  true 
to  herself,  was  false  to  her  wicked  confederate.  She  cared 
not  to  intercede  too  much,  or  enough  to  ensure  success! 
In  her  heart  she  v/ished  La  Coiriveau  well  out  of  the  way, 
that  all  memory  of  the  tragedy  of  Bcaumanoir  might  be 
owept  from  the  earth,  except  what  of  it  remained  hid  in 
in  her  own  bosom.  She  juggled  with  the  appeals  of  La 
Corriveau,  keeping  her  in  hojies  of  pardon  until  the  fatal 
hour  came,  when  it  was  too  late  for  La  Corriveau  to  harm 
her  by  a  confession  of  the  murder  of  Caroline. 

The  hill  of  Levis,  where  La  Corriveau  was  gibbetted, 
was  long  remembered  in  the  traditions  of  the  colony.  It 
was  regarded  with  superstitious  awe  by  the  habitans.  The 
ghost  of  Le  Corriveau  long  haunted — and,  in  the  belief  of 
many,  still  haunts  the  scene  of  her  execution.  Startling 
tales,  raising  the  hair  with  terror,  were  told  of  her  round 
the  firesides  in  winter,  when  the  snow-drifts  cover  the 
fences;  anc/  IthU  ;no5t|i  w'ih'd' howrs.'dpwi^i  {116  chimney  and 
rattles  the.  ciisepjejtjt  pt.thc;  cotfn5g(;!>.i]rf».tj'iq  ,/nihiians,  how, 
all  night  long^  in  the/hirknes^,  she  rjin  ,aftpr.l?^lated  travel- 
lers, dragging',  hei',  pa^t^.af-.hOr  i'.eel>>,'rtq'd  defying  all  the 
exorcismi;  Of  the  Church  it  lay  hsr  cvil'sj/irit ! 


,1'  ':y'ii 


i??!' 


678 


r//£  CniEN  D'OR. 


Singularly  enough,  after  the  ancient  gibbet  had  rotted 
down  and  three  generations  of  men  had  passed  over  the 
accursed  spot  where  her  bones  and  her  cage  had  been, 
buried  tojiether  out  of  human 


sight,  a  habitant  of  Levis, 


digging  in  the  earth,  discovered  the  horrid  cage,  rusted 
and  decayed  with  its  long  interment.  It  was  taken  up  and 
exhibited  in  the  city  as  a  curiosity,  though  few  remembered 
its  story.  Finally  it  was  bought  at  a  great  price  by  a  coV 
lector  of  relics — the  ghastlier  the  better — and  deposited  in 
the  Public  Museum  at  Boston,  in  New  England,  where  it 
remains  dissociated  from  the  terrible  memories  which  were 
connected  with  it.  A  young  lady  of  Quebec,  acquainted 
with  the  legends  of  her  country,  and  whose  quick  eyes 
nothing  escapes,  discovered  not  long  ago  the  horrible  thing, 
covered  with  the  dust  and  oblivion  of  time — the  last  relic 
that  remains  of  the  memory  of  La  ('orriveau. 

The  house  in  St.  Valier,  the  scene  of  her  atrocious 
crime,  was  burned  to  the  ground  on  the  night  she  was  gib- 
betted,  by  the  indignant  /laln/ans,  to  whom  it  had  ever  been 
an  object  of  supreme  terror.  With  it  were  consumed  the  relics 
of  the  laboratory  of  Antonio  Exili,  and  the  deadly  secret  of 
the  Aqua  lofana,  a  secret  which  it  is  hoped  modern  chemis- 
try will  not  re-discover,  but  let  remain,  for  ever,  among  the 
lost  arts  of  an  ancient  and  evil  world  ! 

Our  tale  is  now  done.  It  ends  in  all  sadness,  as  most 
true  tales  of  this  world  do  I  There  is  in  it  neither  poetic 
nor  human  justice.  Fain  would  we  have  had  it  otherwise, 
for  the  '  eart  longs  for  happiness  as  the  eye  for  light ! 
But  truth  is  stronger  as  well  as  stranger  than  fiction,  and 
while  the  tablet  of  the  Chien  d' Or  overlooks  the  Rue 
Buade  ;  while  the  lamp  of  Repentigny  burns  in  the  ancient 
chapel  of  the  Ursulines  ;  while  the  ruins  of  Beaumanoir 
cover  the  dust  of  Caroline  de  St.  Castin  ;  and  Amelie 
sleeps  her  long  sleep  by  the  side  of  Heloise  de  Lotbini^re, 
this  writer  has  neither  courage  nor  power  to  deviate  from 
the  received  traditions  in  relating  the  story  of  the  Golden 
Dog. 


It         1  1  i 


4  It  ^    * 

- « 


,  ■  "-I 


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the  Author,  Portrait,  and  over  Two  Hundred  Illustrations.  Crown 
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*  We  have  liere  some  of  Mr.  Howl's  earlier  attempts,  and  his  share  of  the  '  Odes  and 
Adilrissijs  to  (Jreat  People.'  Tlicti  we  have  tlie  two  series  of  *  Whmis  and  Oddities,'  wliicb 
ou^ht  til  t)e  prescribed  for  nervous  and  hypocliondri.ical  people  ;  for  surely  more  mirtii  w;ia 
never  packed  into   the  s.une  compass  beforej  more    of  the    rollicking  abandonment   of   a  rich. 

Ioyous  humor,  or  niore  of  the  true  ncni.ility  of  nature  which  makes  fun  so  delightful  and 
caves  no  after-taste  of  unkindncss  in  the  mouth.  '  The  Plea  of  the  Midsummer  l'"airies' 
will  be  found  here  in  unabridged  form,  together  with  'Hero  and  Leandtr.'  a  number  of 
'Minor  Poems,'  among  which  we  meet  with  some  very  pretty  fancies — tiie  well-known 
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reprintetl  from  the  Original  Edition.s,  with  many  pieces  now  first 
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mMAN, 
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iers,  by 
acaulay. 


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duced for  the  first  time  since  their  original  appearance  in  various  old  periodicals." — Xalurdajf 
Review. 


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paration. 

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I. 
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SILCOTE  OF  SILCOTES.    By  Henry  Kingsley, 75 

LOVELL,  ADAM,  WESSON  &  CO.,  Publishers. 

764  Broadivay,  New  York. 


^rt  at  Living 
Gilt  Edges, 


'  lived  comlort. 
good  sense."— 

ses  many  hun« 

^rarucript. 


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